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J. T. TROWBRIDGE’S BOOKS 


NOVELS 


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LEE AND SHEPARD PUBLISHERS BOSTON 



YOUNG JOE 


A.ND OTHER BOYS 


J. T. TROWBRIDGE. 


Illustrated. 


BOSTON 

LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO. 




Copyright, 1879, by J. T. Trowbridge. 
Copyright, 1907, by J. T. Trowbridge. 

All rights reserved. 

Young Joe and Oth^r Boys. 


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Berwick & Smith Co., Norwood, Mass., U.S.A. 


1 

CONTENTS. 


YOUNG JOE. 

I. Wild Ducks, 9 

II. Mr. Bonwig at Bass Cove, .... 14 

III. Off to the Island, 22 

IV. A Couple of Crusoes, 36 

V. The Fate of the Castaways, ... 50 

SIMON CANFORD AND HIS DOG CARLO, . . 65 

HOW EDGAR LEFT HOME, 89 

THE ONE-EYED HOSTLER’S STORY, . . .102 

MY LOST POCKET-BOOK, 115 

ANDY’S ADVENTURES, 129 

THE WOLF-HUNT, 159 ‘ 

THE FORTUNES OF CALEB KEMP, . . . .174 

THE MISSING LETTERS. Richard Borden’s Story, 190 

THE DOMINIE’S WATCH, 215 

BERT’S THANKSGIVING, 241 

CARL ROBSON’S CHRISTMAS, 253 

TOM CORTLAND’S GOLD WATCH, . . . .272 

THE WILD-CAT CLUB, 


288 



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YOUNG JOE. 


I. 


WILD DUCKS. 

O NE day, a good many years ago, Young Joe 
Scoville, of Bass Cove, went up to town to sell 
some wild ducks he had shot. 

Old Joe (that was his father) had said to him, 
early in the season, “ When I see you come a-luggin’ 
home a couple o’ dozen ducks to oncet, then Til let 
you go and try your hand soilin’ on ’em ; ” and 
Young Joe, having bagged that morning his two 
dozen and upward, had now for the first time in his 
life come alone to market. 

And very proud was Young Joe, I assure you. He 
drove smartly into the Square, and cried, Whoa ! ” 
and “ Here’s yer nice fine ducks, gentlemen ! walk 
up, gentlemen ! ” and nodded respectfully to custom- 
ers, and felt and acted very much like Old Joe, his 
father. 


9 


10 


YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS. 


He thought everybody appeared greatly pleased 
with him. Some looked at his freckled face, long 
hair, and old coat that had been his father’s (and 
had seen I don’t know how many Atlantic storms), 
and smiled approvingly. Some appeared delighted 
with his manners — so fresh and natural, you know. 
Others regarded his little old one-horse wagon, and 
queer little pony, — with his unkempt mane about 
his face and eyes, which gave him a striking resem- 
blance to Young Joe with his long hair, — as if they 
had never seen anything so agreeable. 

What pleasant folks these city folks be I ” thought 
Young Joe. 

“ Walk up, gentlemen, and take a look I Don’t 
cost nothin’ to take a look, whether ye buy or not I ” 
he called out. “ How d’e do ? ” 

He said “ How d’e do ? ” to about the handsomest, 
best-dressed, and fattest man either he or anybody 
else ever saw. He had a cane in his hand and a 
cigar in his mouth, and was altogether a nice, plump, 
shiny fellow, from his hat to his boots. 

He did not say in reply, Pretty well, thank ye ; 
how are you ? ” as Joe, who had been taught good 
manners at home, thought he ought to have done ; 
but, with his hat tipped airily on one side of his 
head, and his cigar sticking up jauntily out of one 
corner of his mouth, he came along and looked 
carelessly into the wagon. 

“ Hello I ” said he, when he saw the ducks. He 
took the cigar out of his mouth and said Hel-lo I ” 


YOUNG JOE. 11 

again, more emphatically than before, and looked 
up at Young Joe. Where did you get these ? ” 

“ Shot ’em ; where d’ ye s’pose ? ” said Young Joe, 
proudly. 

You didn’t shoot ’em ? — a boy like y(m I ” said 
the fat man. 

Mabby I didn’t,” replied Joe, indignantly ; “ and 
then, agin, mabby I did ; and it’s a little more I did 
than I didn’t, this time, I guess ! ” 

“ Bless my heart ! if I ain’t surprised ! ” 

Now the handsome and well-dressed plump gen- 
tleman happened to be no other than Mr. Augustus 
Bonwig, the confectioner, whose celebrated candy- 
shop was well and favorably known to every good 
boy and girl in town. He looked almost as if he had 
been made of candy himself — clear white and red, 
and a great deal of it. 

There was one thing he was remarkably good at, 
but on which he did not pride himself at all, and that 
was — his business. There was another thing he was 
not so good at, but on which he naturally prided 
himself a good deal (for that is the way with some 
of us), and that was — gunning. He didn’t care 
whether you praised his sweetmeats or not ; but if 
you happened to say, Bonwig, people tell me 
you are a fine shot,” that pleased Mr. Augustus 
Bonwig. 

It was this ambition of his which caused him to 
regard Young Joe with sudden interest, and to ex- 
claim again, very emphatically, after having examined 


12 


YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS. 


him and the ducks once more, Bless my heart now I 
I am surprised ! ” 

Do — you — want — to — buy — them — ducks 
demanded Young Joe, ungrammatically, but very 
distinctly, beginning to distrust Mr. Bonwig. If 
you don’t, you needn’t feel obliged to handle ’em 
any more, that’s all.” 

No, I don’t care to purchase ; but I’ll give some- 
thing for a chance to shoot a few such birds,” said 
Mr. Bonwig — • and blessed his heart again. 

Oh ! that’s it I Wal, you come down our way 
some time, and I’ll show ye a chance. Ye can shoot 
as many black ducks and coots and old- wives as ye 
can carry away on yer back. And I won’t charge ye 
nothin’ for ’t, neither. Takes gumption to git ’em, 
though, sometimes ! ” said Joe. 

I guess if you can get ’em I can, fast enough ! ” 
said the smiling Augustus. Where do you live ? ” 

Bass Cove. Ask for old Joe Scoville — that’s 
my father. Stage-driver’ll set ye down right by 
the door. Hope you’ll bring a good gun. I hain’t 
got much of a gun, nor dad hain’t, neither ; — some- 
times I take mine, and sometimes I take his’n, and 
sometimes I take both ; — flint-locks ; miss Are half 
the time ; but we manage to make ’em do, seein’ 
we’ve got the hang o’ the ducks.” 

This speech greatly encouraged Mr. Bonwig, who 
thought that if such a green youth as Joe, with an 
old flint-lock, could bag wild ducks at Bass Cove, 
surely he, Augustus the sportsman, with his flne 


YOUNG JOE. 


13 


double-barrelled fowling-piece and modern accoutre- 
ments, must have great success there, and astonish 
the natives at their own game. He named an early 
day for his visit, and already imagined himself shoot- 
ing ducks by the dozen. 

'Arly in the mornin^ ’s the best time for ^em,’' 
said Joe, who accordingly advised him to come down 
the evening before, and stop overnight. 

To this Mr. Bonwig agreed, and walked away in 
fine spirits, with his hat on one side, swinging his 
cane, and jauntily puffing his cigar. Then, having sold 
his ducks for a good price, and bought a new fur cap 
for winter wear, and a glass of very small beer for 
immediate consumption, and a rattle for the baby, 
and a paper of brown sugar for the family, all with 
the duck-money. Young Joe turned about and drove 
home, with a pretty good handful of small change 
still jingling in his pocket, 


14 


YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS. 


II. 

MR. BONWIG AT BASS COVE. 

One evening, not long after, the stage-coach 
rolled up to Old Joe’s door at the Cove, and a stout 
sporting gentleman got down over the wheel, from 
the top, and jumped to the ground. It was Mr. 
Augustus Bonwig, looking plumper than ever, in 
his short hunting-jacket, and handsomer than ever, 
to Young Joe’s fancy, in his magnificent hunting- 
boots (red-topped, trousers tucked into them), and 
with the fine double-barrelled gun he carried. 

Oh, ain’t that I ” exclaimed Joe, poising 

the gun. He did not say what — no word in the 
language seemed adequate to express the admira- 
tion and delight with which he regarded the beauti- 
ful fowling-piece. “ And what boots them are for 
wet walkin’ ! And hain’t you got the splendidest 
game-bag though 1 And what a huntin’ -cap ! — it 
don’t seem as though a man could miss a bird, that 
wore such a cap as that ! Come in,” said Joe, his 
respect for Mr. Bonwig greatly increased, now that 
he had seen him in such noble sporting rig. Fa- 
ther ’s to home. And I’ll show you our guns — old- 
fashioned queen’s-arms, both on ’em.” 

Bless my heart I ” said Augustus, smiling. Well 
now, I am surprised 1 You don’t mean to say you 
shoot ducks with those things ? Well, well, 1 ami 


YOUNG JOE. 


15 


“ My boy there/’ said Old Joe, filling his pipe and 
cocking his eye proudly at the youngster, he’d 
shoot ducks with ’most anything, I believe. He’d 
bring ’em down with a hoe-handle, if he couldn’t git 
hold o’ nothin’ else. He’s got a knack, sir ; it’s all in 
havin’ a knack.” 

And Old Joe, who had been standing with his back 
to the fire, turned about and stooped to pick up a 
small live coal with the tongs. 

Then agin,” — he pressed the coal into the bowl 
of his pipe, and took a puff, — “ ducks is ” — puff, 
puff — “ puty plenty,” — puff, — and puty tame on 
this here coast, about now.” And the old man, hav- 
ing lighted his pipe, and replaced the tongs in the 
chimney-corner, stepped aside, to make room for 
his wife. 

Mrs. Joe swung out the old-fashioned crane, hung 
the tea-kettle on one of the hooks, and swung it back 
again over the fire. Then she greased the iron 
spider, placed it on the coals, and made other pre- 
parations for supper* 

Sed down, sed down,” said Old Joe ; and Mr. 
Bonwig sat down. And the children crowded around 
him, to admire his watch-chain and his red-topped 
boots. And the amiable Augustus, who had come 
prepared for such emergencies, pulled out of one 
pocket one kind of candy, and another kind out of 
another pocket, and still a third variety from a third 
receptacle, and so on ; for his hunting-suit seemed to 
be literally lined with pockets, and all his pockets to 


16 


YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS. 


contain more or less of those celebrated sweetmeats 
so well and so favorably known to the good boys 
and girls in town. And Mr. Bonwig was pleased to 
observe that human nature was the same every- 
where ; country boys and girls were like city boys 
and girls, in one respect at least — all liked candy. 

Oh, ain’t it good ! ” said Maggie. 

“ Prime I I tell ye I ” said Joe, who had his share, 
of course. 

Goodie, good ! ” said Molly. 

Goo, goo ! ” crowed the baby. 

Oh, my ! ” said Tottie. 

And they all sucked and crunched, with cheeks 
sticking out and eyes glistening, just like so many 
children in town, for all the world. And Augustus 
was happy, thinking just then, I imagine, of three or 
four plump little darlings at home, of whom he was 
very fond, and whom he never left for a single night, 
if he could help it, unless it was to go on some such 
glorious hunting frolic as this. 

It was a poor man’s kitchen. I don’t think there 
was a carpet or a table-napkin in the house ; the 
ceiling was low, the windows were small, the walls 
smoky, and everything was as plain and old-fash- 
ioned as could be. But Mr. Bonwig, nice gentleman 
as he was, appeared delighted. He prided himself 
on his sportsman-like habits, and so the rougher he 
found life down on the coast, the better. He ad- 
mired the little smoky kitchen, he liked the fried 
perch and cold wild duck for supper, and he was 


YOUNG JOE. 


17 


charmed with the homely talk of gunning and fishing, 
and storms and wrecks, which took up the evening, 
and with the bed of wild-fowls’ feathers on which he 
passed the night. 

The next morning Young Joe came to his bedside, 
candle in hand, and awoke him, before dawn. 

Hello I ” said Mr. Bonwig, rubbing his eyes open. 

Hel-lo I I am surprised ! I was having such a 
splendid time I I thought I was hunting ducks, and 
I had got a whole flock in range of my two barrels, 
and was waiting for a few more to light ; but I was 
just going to shoot, when you woke me. I wish I 
had fired before 1” 

“ Wal, you come with me, and mabby your dream ’ll 
come to pass,” said Young Joe, leaving him the 
candle to dress by. 

Mrs. Scoville was already cooking their breakfast ; 
“ for, like as not,” she said, they wouldn’t be back 
till noon, and they must have a bite of something to 
start with.” 

Mr. Bonwig was sorry she had given herself so 
much trouble ; but he afterwards, as we shall see, had 
good reason to be thankful that he had taken that 

bite.” 

At daylight they set out, Mr. Bonwig with his fine, 
stub-twist, two-barrelled fowling-piece, and Young 
Joe with both the old queen’s-arms, his own and his 
father’s. 

Mr. Bonwig wished to know what the boy ex- 
pected to do with two guns. 


18 


YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS. 


“ They may come handy ; they ^most alluz does,” 
said Joe. 

‘^But IVe my gun this time/^ said Augustus ; 
and I shall want you to carry the birds.” 

That was a somewhat startling suggestion ; but 
Joe thought he would take both guns, nevertheless. 

I ain’t goin’ to come in the way of your shootin’ ; 
but ril jest take what you leave — though I don’t 
suppose that will be much,” said he. 

It was a cool autumn morning. The air was crisp 
and exhilarating. The morning light was breaking, 
through dim clouds, over land and sea. Joe led the 
way over the short wet grass, and rocks and ledges, 
of a rough hill back of the Cove. At last he pulled 
the eager Augustus by the jacket, and said : 

Be sly, now, climbin’ around them rocks yen- 
der ! There ’s a beach t’other side, and a little 
stream o’ water runnin’ acrost it. Black ducks can’t 
git along, as some kinds can, with salt water alone ; 
they alluz have to go to fresh water to drink, and 
we’re apt to find ’em around Beach Brook here, ’fore 
folks are stirrin’. ’Twas on this beach father shot 
the twenty-five, to one shot, he told ye about last 
night.” 

‘‘Was that a true story, Joe?” Augustus asked, 
growing excited. 

“True as guns,” said Joe. “Ye see, they all 
gather in a huddle along by the brook, and you’ve 
only to git in range of ’em, and let fly jest at the 
right minute; sometimes there’ll be a flock of a 


YOUNG JOE. 


19 


hundred, like as any way, and ye can^t miss ^em all 
if ye try.” 

“ I should think not 1 ” said Mr. Bonwig, taking 
long, noiseless strides in his hunting-boots, and hold- 
ing his gun in the approved fashion. Only show 
me such a chance I ” 

I’ll wait here in the hollow,” said Joe. “ You 
crawl over the rocks, and look right down on the 
beach before ye, and — By sixty ! there ’s a flock 
iightin’ now ! — see ’em ? ” 

“ Bless my heart 1 ” said Bonwig, in no little 
trepidation. 

He took the route Joe pointed out, and soon dis- 
appeared behind the ledges. Then all was silence 
for several minutes, while Joe waited to hear the 
double report of the destructive fowling-piece, and 
to see the frightened flock of ducks — or such as 
were left of them after Mr. Bonwig’s shot — fly up 
again. 

Bonwig in the mean time crept along behind a 
pile of rocks Joe had described to him, and, looking 
through an opening, saw a wonderful sight. Before 
him spread the broad, smooth beach, washed by the 
surf. There must have been a high wind ofi* the 
coast during the night, for the sea was rough, and 
long, heavy breakers came curling and plunging 
magnificently along the shore. The morning clouds 
were reddening over the agitated ocean, which faintly 
reflected their tints. 

But the sight which most interested Mr. Augustus 


20 


YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS. 


Bon wig was the game that awaited him. The brook, 
which cut out afresh its channel across the beach as 
often as the tide, which filled it with sand twice in 
the twenty-four hours, receded, — the little brook, 
from the rocks to the surf (it was now half tide), was 
alive with ducks, and more were alighting. 

Mr. Bonwig silently blessed his heart two or three 
times — and well he might, for it was beating with 
very unsportsman-like rapidity at that exciting mo- 
ment. His hands shook so that it was well that Joe, 
if he was to retain his high respect for him as a 
gunner, did not see them. In fact, Mr. Bonwig, who 
fancied himself a sportsman because he had been 
sometimes successful in firing at a mark, found this 
a very different business. 

He hardly knew whether he took aim or not. That 
one barrel went off prematurely in the air is quite 
certain. At the report, — the like of which ducks 
on that coast had made acquaintance with before, 
and knew that it meant mischief, — ^the entire flock 
of a hundred or more flew up at once, with a sudden 
noise of wings which could be heard above the roar- 
ing of the breakers. Then the other barrel went off. 
Then Young Joe came running up in high glee, to 
offer his congratulations and to help pick up the dead 
birds. He looked, expecting to see the beach strewn 
with them. 

There wasn’t a bird on the beach, dead or alive I 

In utter amazement, Joe turned and looked at Mr. 
Bonwig. That gentleman stood with his portly form 


YOUNG JOE. 


21 


erect, his head thrown back, and his mouth and eyes 
open, staring at the sky, into which his fine covey 
of ducks were rapidly vanishing. 

“ Well, well !’’ said he. “ Now, now I If I ainH 
surprised ! Whoever saw anything happen like 
that ? Bless — my — heart ! 

Not a darned duck I said Joe. 

Oh, I must have wounded some I I must have 
wounded about twenty I Augustus declared. He 
looked critically at his gun ; then he turned his gaze 
once more at the sky ; then he looked at Young Joe, 
who was beginning to grin. I think my shot must 
be too fine,’^ said Mr. Bonwig. 

Joe asked to see his lead. 

’Tain^t no finer 'n what I use. Feathers on a 
loon’s breast are so thick, them shot wouldn’t go 
through ’em ; have to fire at a loon’s head when he ’s 
facin’ ye. But I don’t see how ye could let fly 
into a flock o’ loons even without knocking over a 
few.” 

It’s a very remarkable circumstance ! — very 
singular ! — very surprising I ” observed Mr. Bonwig, 
wounded in his tenderest point, — his pride as a 
sportsman, — and betraying, a good deal of chagrin 
and agitation. He was very much flushed. He took 
off his cap and wiped his forehead. “ Just let me 
try that thing over again, that’s all ! ” 

“ Best way now will be to go off to the island,” 
said Joe. That’s our dory. Just help me shove it 
off, and we’ll have some fun yet I ” 


22 


YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS. 


III. 

OFF TO THE ISLAND. 

Bless my heart I ’’ said Mr. Bonwig, amazed at 
the huge rollers that came tumbling in. How are 
we ever going to get a boat outside of them without 
swamping her ? ’’ 

I’ll show je/’ said Joe. 

The dory was dragged down to the edge of the 
surf. Then Joe put in the guns. Then he gave the 
skiff another gentle shove, into a receding wave. 
Then he told Mr. Bonwig to get aboard. 

IVe a wife and children at home ! ” murmured 
that affectionate husband and father. “ If anything 
should happen ! ” 

“What in sixty ye think is goin’ to happen?” 
cried Joe, impatiently. 

“ I am very heavy ! ” said Augustus. 

“ So much the better ; you’ll make splendid bal- 
last,” grinned Joe. 

“ You are going too ? ” 

“ Of course I am ; I hain’t got no wife and children 
- — not much ! ” 

There was something in Joe that inspired confi- 
dence, and Mr. Bonwig resolved to stand the risk. 
He seated himself in the boat. Joe stood on the 
beach, holding the bow, and waiting. The waves 
were out. 


YOUNG JOE. 


23 


“ You never can shove me off in the world ! ’’ said 
Mr. Bonwig, painfully conscious of his own corpu- 
lence. 

You’ll see,” said Joe. The next moment the 
waves were in. A heavy swell lifted the dory, bal- 
last and all. The ballast uttered a scream, and 
made a motion as if to jump overboard. Keep 
yer seat. All right ! ” screamed Joe, pushing off. 
As the next breaker lifted the stern, he gave another 
shove, and jumped aboard. Before the third breaker 
came, he had the oars in his hand, ready to meet it. 

Well, well!” said Mr. Bonwig. “I am sur- 
prised ! ” 

And well he might be ; for, you see, this embark- 
ing in the breakers is a business that calls for no 
little skill and experience ; you must take advantage 
of them, and see that they don’t get the advan- 
tage of you. They have no mercy ; and if they 
strike your skiff sideways, over she goes in an in- 
stant, and there she rolls to and fro in their foaming 
jaws until they crunch her to pieces, unless some 
strong hand at the right moment seizes and drags 
her out. 

Young Joe, first by skilfully pushing off, then 
by prompt management of the oars, kept the dory 
straight across the rollers, and soon had her safe 
outside of them. Then he commenced rowing 
strongly and steadily toward a rocky island, two or 
three miles off, over the ends of which the sea was 
dashing high and white. 


24 


YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS. 


Mr. Bonwig was seated in the stern, which he 
freighted so heavily that the bow stuck up ludi- 
crously high out of the water. He had now quite 
recovered his equanimity. 

Well ! I enjoy this ! ’’ said he, and lighted a ci- 
gar. “ How easy this boat rows I ” 

It does, to look on,” said Joe. 

“ I am surprised 1 ” said Mr. Bonwig. I ^d no 
idea one of these little skiffs pulled so easy I ” and 
he smoked complacently. 

How good that cigar tastes I ” said J oe, with a 
grin. “ I had no idee cigars tasted so good ! ” 

Young man,” replied Augustus, laughing, I see 
the force of your remark. Perhaps you think I 
might offer to row. But I want to keep my nerves 
steady for the ducks. I’ll row coming back, and that 
will be a good deal harder, for we shall have a load 
of game, you know.” 

“All right,” said Joe. “No, I thank ye,” — as 
Bonwig offered him a cigar. “ But if you happen 
to have any more of that ’ere sweet stuff about 
ye — ” 

“ Oh, to be sure I ” and Augustus had the pleas- 
ure of filling the young man’s mouth with candy. 
“ W hat sort of ducks do we get at the island ? ” 

“ Coots and black ducks, mostly,” said Joe, (and 
I wish I could make the words sound as sweet on 
paper as they did coming from his candied lips.) 
“ Black ducks go along the shore to feed when the 
tide is low. They find all sorts of little live things 


YOUNG JOE. 


25 


on the rocks and in the moss, and in them little 
basins the tide leaves in holler places. They never 
dive deep ; they only jest tip up, like common ducks. 
But some kinds will feed where the water is thirty 
feet deep ; they go to the bottom, and pick up all 
sorts of insects and little critters. They pick young 
mussels off the rocks, and swallow ’em whole, shell 
and all, and grind ’em up in their gizzards.” 

“ Do they catch fish ? ” 

No ; loons ketch fish, but ducks and coots don’t. 
A loon has got short wings that help him swim 
under water, — or fly under water, for that’s what 
it is. He ’ll go faster ’n some fishes. But he can’t 
walk ; and he can’t rise on the wing very well. He 
has to flop along the water, against the wind, a little 
while, ’fore he can rise. He can’t rise goin’ with 
the wind, any more ’n a kite can ; and sometimes, 
when he lights in a small pond, he’s pestered to git 
out at all. I ketched one in Bemis’s Pond last 
spring. He was jest as well and spry as any loon 
ye ever see, but there wasn’t room for him to git 
a good start, and no wind to help him ; and he 
couldn’t run on the land, nor fly up from the land ; 
and there wasn’t any good chance to dive. A loon’ll 
go down in deep water, and like as not ye won’t see 
anything more of him till by-’m-by he comes up a 
quarter of a mile off, or mabby ye won’t never see 
him agin, — for he can swim with jest a little speck 
of his body out of water, so that it takes a purty 
sharp eye to git sight of him. But this loon in 


26 


YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS. 


Bemis’s Pond couldn’t come none o’ them tricks, 
and I jest stoned him till he couldn’t dive, then I in 
arter him, and ketched him. He was a fat feller, I 
tell ye 1 ” 

“ That’s a good loon story, I declare,” observed 
Mr. Bonwig. 

“ I can tell ye a better one than that,” said J oe. 

My father went a-fishin’ off the end of that island 
once, and as the fish wouldn’t bite, and the sea was 
calm, he jest put his lines out and laid down in the 
bottom of the dory, and spread a tarpaulin over him, 
and thought he’d go to sleep. That’s a nice way to 
sleep, — have yer boat at anchor, and it’ll rock 
ye like a cradle, only ye must be careful a storm 
don’t come up all of a suddent and rock ye over. 
Ye can wind yer line around yer wrist, so’s’t if a 
cod does come and give it a yank, you’ll wake up. 
That’s the way my father did. And he had a nice 
long nap, when all at oncet — yank! suthin’ had 
holt. Off went the tarpaulin, and up he jumped, 
and he thought he’d got a whopper, by the way it 
run off with his line. But before he’d begun to pull, 
the line slacked as if nothin’ was on it; and the 
next minute up come a loon close alongside the 
boat, and looked at him, and my father looked at the 
loon, and thought he noticed suthin’ queer hangin’ 
out of his bill. Then the loon dove, and then my 
father felt a whopper on his line agin, and he began 
to pull, and, by sixty 1 if he didn’t pull up that loon 
and bring him into the boat ! He had dove I don’t 


YOUNG JOE. 27 

know how many fathom for the bait, and got hooked 
jest like a fish.” 

“ That is a good story I ” said Mr. Bonwig, who 
had a sportsman’s relish for such things. “ What 
makes folks say crazy as a loon ? ” 

I d’n’ know,” Joe replied, without it’s ’cause 
they holler so. Didn’t ye never hear a loon holler ? 
You’d think ’twas a crazy feller, if ye didn’t know. 
I s’pose loonatics are named after ’em.” 

“Not exactly,” said Mr. Bonwig. Lunatics are 
named after Lana : that’s the Latin name for the 
moon, which affects people’s brains sometimes.” 

“ I wouldn’t give much for such brains ! ” said 
Joe, contemptuously. *''■ Moon never hurt mine 
none ! ” Hence he argued that his own were of a 
superior quality. “ You must have been to school 
to learn so much Latin ! ” he said, regarding Mr. 
Bonwig with fresh admiration. 

Augustus nodded with dignity. 

“ What’s the Latin for dory ? ” Joe asked, thinking 
he would begin at once to acquire that useful lan- 
guage. 

Augustus was obliged to own that he didn’t know. 
Thereupon Joe’s admiration changed to contempt. 

“ What’s the use of Latin,” said he, “ if ye can’t 
tell the Latin for dory?” And Mr. Bonwig was 
sorry he had not said dorihus, and so have still 
retained a hold upon Joe’s respect. 

“ Why do folks say silly coot ? ” he asked, to 
change the subject. 


28 


YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS. 


Wal, a coot is a silly bird — jest like some folks,” 
said Joe. Sometimes you may shoot one out of a 
flock, and the rest will fly right up to you, or jest 
stay right around, till you’ve killed ’em all.” Au- 
gustus thought he would like to fall in with such a 
flock. “ There’s some now ! ” said Joe. “ They’re 
goin’ to the island. The sea runs so, we can’t shoot 
very well from the boat, and I guess we’d better land.” 

Landing was easy under the lee of the island, 
and the boat was hauled up on the beach. Then 
Joe set out to guide his friend to the best point for 
getting a shot. 

“ There I ” said he, stopping suddenly near the 
summit of a ledge, ‘^ye can see ’em down there, 
about three rods from shore. Don’t stir, for if they 
see us we shall lose ’em.” 

But we must get nearer than this ! ” said Mr. 
Bonwig, for even my gun won’t do execution at 
this distance.” 

Don’t you know ? ” Joe said. They’re feedin’. 
When you come acrost a flock of coots feedin’ like 
that, you ’ll notice they all dive together, and stay 
under water as much as a minute ; then they all 
come up to breathe agin. Now, when they dive, do 
as I do. There goes one down 1 there they all go. 
Now ! ” cried Joe. 

He clambered over the ledge as nimbly as a lad 
could very well do, with an old queen’s arm ” in 
each hand, and ran down rapidly towards the shore, 
off which the water-fowl were feeding. He was 


YOUNG JOE. 


29 


light of foot, and familiar with every rock. Not so 
Mr. Augustus Bonwig ; he was very heavy of foot, 
and unacquainted with the rocks. 

“ Bl-e-hess m-y-hy hea-ah-rt ! '' he exclaimed, jolt- 
ing his voice terribly, as he followed Joe down the 
steep, rough way. 

“Here! quick 1 cried Joe, dropping behind 
another ledge. 

Poor Mr. Bonwig plunged like a porpoise, and 
tumbled with a groan at the boy’s side. 

“ Flat ! flat I ’’ whispered Joe. 

“ I can’t make myself any flatter I ” panted Augus- 
tus, pressing his corpulence close to the ground. 
“ I’ve scraped off two buttons, and skinned my 
shins, already.” 

“ You ainH quite so flat as a flapjack, 6eye? ” said 
Joe. “ Never mind. We’re all right.” He peeped 
cautiously over the ledge, cap in hand. “There 
comes one of ^em up agin 1 There they all come ! 
Now look ; be careful 1 ” Bonwig put up his head. 
“Next time they go down we’ll run for them big 
rocks close by the shore ; then we shall be near 
enough.” 

“Is that the way you do? Well, I am sur- 
prised ! ” said Bonwig. “ As your father said, it 
requires a knack.” 

“ There they go ! ” cried Joe, and started to run. 
Augustus started too, but stumbled on some stones 
and fell. When with difficulty he had regained hia 
feet, Joe was safe in the shelter of the rocks, and 


30 


YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS. 


the birds were coming to the surface again. It re- 
quired no very fine eyesight to see Mr. Bonwig ; he 
was, in fact, quite a conspicuous object, clumsily 
running down the craggy slope, with both arms 
extended, — the better to preserve his balance, J 
suppose, although they gave him the appearance or 
a man making unwieldy and futile efibrts to fly. The 
coots saw him, and rose at once upon the wing. 

“ Bang ! ’’ “ Bang ! ” spoke Joe’s old flint-locks, 
one after the other ; for, having fired the first as the 
flock started, he dropped that and levelled and fired 
the second, almost before the last bird had cleared 
the surface of the water. 

Bang I bang ! ” answered Bonwig’s smart two- 
barrelled piece from the hillside ; and the startled 
Joe had the pleasure of hearing a shower of shot 
rattle on the rocks all around him. The enthusiastic 
sportsman, seeing the coots rise and Joe fire, and 
thinking this his only chance at them, had let off 
his barrels at a dozen rods, as be would very likely 
have done at a quarter of a mile, so great was his 
excitement on the occasion. 

He came running down to the shore. Hello ! 
hel-lo ! ” said he, I’ve saved these ! look there ! ” 
And he pointed triumphantly at some birds which, 
sure enough, had been left behind out of the flock. 

“By sixty!” grumbled Joe, “you come purty 
nigh savin^ me 1 Your shot peppered these rocks 
— I could hear ’em scatter like peas I ” 


YOUNG JOE. 


31 


“ Do you mean to say,” cried Bonwig, that I 
didn’t kill these ducks ? ” 

All I mean to say is, they are the ones I fired 
at,” said Joe, and I seen ’em turn and drop ’fore 
ever you fired. Your gun didn’t carry to the water 
at all. I’ll show ye.” 

Joe began to hunt, and had soon picked up a 
couple of shot of the size used by his friend Bon- 
wig. 

Bless my heart ! Now I am surprised ! The 
wind must have blown them back ! ” said Augustus. 

“ If that’s the case,” muttered Joe, “ I shall look 
out how I git ’tween you and the wind another time ! 
By sixty ! ye might have filled me as fall of holes 
as a nutmeg- grater ! And I rather guess there’s 
nicer sounds in the world than to have two big 
charges o’ shot come rattlin’ about yer ears that 
fashion ! ” And he rubbed his ears, as if to make 
sure that they were all right. 

Well, well, well ! ” said the wondering Augustus, 
picking up more shot. 1 am — surprised ain’t the 
word ; I’m astonished ! Well, well, well 1 ” 

^^You wait here,” said Joe, while I hurry and 
pick up them coots. There’s an eddy of wind tak- 
in’ ’em right out to sea.” 

He disappeared, and soon Mr. Bonwig saw him 
paddling around the curve of the shore in his dory. 
Having taken the coots out of the water, he brought 
them to land, and showed them to the admiring 
Augustus. 


32 


YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS. 


“ Now which way/’ said the sportsman, filled with 
fresh zeal, “ for I am bound to have luck next time.” 

“ We’ll haul the dory up here, and go over on the 
other side of the island, and see what we can find 
there,” said Joe. 

What a desolate place this is I ” said Mr. Bon- 
wig, as they crossed the bleak ledges. All rocks 
and stones ; not a tree, not a bush even ; only here 
and there a little patch of grass ! ” He struck a 
schoolboy’s attitude on one of the topmost ledges, 
and began to declaim: 

“ ‘ I am monarch of all I survey, 

My right there is none to dispute ; 

From the centre all round to the sea, 

I’m lord of the — ’ 

Plenty of fowls, but there don’t seem to be any 
brutes here,” he commented, as he came down from 
his elevation. 

“ Guess ye learnt that to school, too, didn’t ye ? ” 
said Joe. 

“ Young friend, I did,” said Augustus. And he 
proceeded to apostrophize the salt water : 

“ ‘ Roll on, thou deep and dark blue ocean, roll! 

Ten thousand — ’ 

Thunder and blazes ! who’d have thought that rock 
was so slippery ? ” he said, finding himself sudden- 
ly and quite unexpectedly in a sitting posture. 

Speaking of fleets, what are all those sails, Joe ? ” 


YOUNG JOE. 


33 


“ Fishermen. Sometimes for days you won’t see 
scarcely one ; then there ’ll come a mornin’ with a 
fair wind, like this, and they ’ll all put out of port 
together.” 

“ Hello ! AeWo/” said Augustus. Who ever ex- 
pected to see a house on this island ? What little 
building is that ? ” 

It’s one of the Humane Society’s houses ; house 
of refuge they call it. They have ’em scattered 
along the coast where ships are most likely to be 
wrecked, and there’s no other shelter handy.” 

Nobody lives in it, of course ? ” 

“ I guess not, if they can help it,” said Joe. But 
more ’n one good ship has gone to pieces on this island. 
I remember one that struck here eight years ago. 
She struck in the night, and the next mornin’ we 
could see her, bows up, on the reef yender, where 
the tide had left her ; but the sea was so rough there 
was no gittin’ at her in boats, and the next night she 
broke up, and the day after nary spar of her was to 
be seen, ’cept the pieces of the wreck that begun 
to come ashore to the mainland, along ’ith the dead 
bodies. About half the crew was drownded ; the 
rest managed to git to the island, but there wan’t 
no house here then, and they ’most froze to death, 
for it was winter, and awful cold. Since then this 
little hut has been tucked in here among the rocks, 
where the wind can’t very well git at it, to blow it 
away ; and come when ye will, summer or winter, 
you ’ll always find straw in the bunks, and wood in 
3 


34 


YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS. 


the box, and matches in a tin case, and a barrel of 
hard bread, and a cask of fresh water. Only the 
wood and hard bread are apt to get used up purty 
close, sometimes. You see, fellers that come off 
here a-fishin’ know about it, and so when they git 
hungry, they pull ashore with their fish, and come 
to the house to make a chowder. But I wouldn’t,’^ 
said Joe, assuming a highly moral tone, without 
there was a barrel chock full of crackers 1 For, 
s’pose a ship should be wrecked, and the crew and 
passengers should git ashore here, wet and hungry 
and cold, and should find the house, and the box 
where the wood should be, and the barrel where 
the crackers should be, and there shouldn’t be 
neither wood nor crackers, on account of some 
plaguy fellers and their chowder 1 No, by sixty ! ” 
said Joe. I wouldn’t be so mean I ” 

It looks naked and gloomy enough in here ! ” 
said Augustus, as they entered. 

It wouldn’t seem so bad, though, to wet and hun- 
gry sailors, some wild night in Jane wary, after 
they’d been cast away,” said Joe. Jest imagine 
’em crawlin’ in here out of the rain and cold, and 
startin’ up a good, nice fire in the chimbly, and set- 
tin’ down afore it, eatin’ the crackers I ” 

How are the provisions supplied ? ” 

“ Oh, one of the Humane Society’s boats comes 
around here once in a while, and leaves things. I 
don’t believe but what it would be fun to live here,” 


YOUNG JOE. 


35 


Joe added, romantically, like Robinson Crusoe and 
his Man Friday.’^ 

“ Suppose we try it ? ” said Mr. Bonwig. I’ll be 
Crusoe, and you may be t’other fellow.” 

And we’ll shoot ducks for a livin’ ! ” said Friday. 

Come on, Mr. Crusoe I ” 

They left the hut, and went in pursuit of game, 
little thinking that accident might soon compel them 
to commence living the life that was so pleasant to 
joke about, more in earnest than either dreamed of 
doing now. But the story of how that came to pass 
will have to be related in another chapter. 


36 


YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS. 


IV. 


A COUPLE OF CRUSOES. 

The sea was inspiring to Mr. Augustus Bonwig’s 
poetical feelings; and he began to declaim again, 
as he and Joe descended the- ledges on the seaward 
side of the island. 

“ ‘ The breaking waves dashed high, on a stern — ’ ” 
But here a chasm in the rocks occasioned a hiatus in 
the verse. 

On the stern of a ship?’’ Joe asked. 

“ No ; ^ on a stern and rock-bound coast,’ ” said 
Mr. Bonwig, as he stepped over the chasm. 

But here, again, he was interrupted ; this time by- 
Joe, who cautioned him against scaring the ducks 
with his poetry. 

Now, look a here. Mister ! You notice, we’re 
cornin’ to a sort of clift,” (Joe meant cliff.) We 
can crawl right to the edge on ’t, and look right 
down into a little inlet, where we’ll be purty sure to 
see suthin’.” 

Crawl, is it ? ” said the portly Mr. Bonwig, winc- 
ing. I’m not built for crawling. But no matter. 
Go ahead. I’ll sacrifice the rest of my buttons in a 
good cause, if necessary.” 

Joe advanced to make an observation. He reached 
the edge of the cliff ; and presently looked back at 
his companion with a laugh, and beckoned to him. 


YOUNG JOE. 37 

Augustus came up to him, scratching the rocks with 
his remaining buttons, and looked over. 

Here’s a splendid shot I ” said Joe. Two old- 
wives close in shore ! ” 

Bonwig saw with delight the pair of ducks, riding 
on the swells that poured into the inlet, or tipping up 
and plunging their bills down among the cool, dark 
sea-moss, as the bright waves receded, leaving it half 
exposed and glistening in the early sunlight. 

“ Now,” said Joe, “ I’m goin’ to let you have all 
the chance this time. I shan’t fire at all till you do. 
Don’t show yourself, nor make a noise, but take aim 
right through this notch.” 

Bonwig obeyed ; resting his ponderous stomach on 
the ledge, and thrusting his gun over it, he cocked 
both barrels, and took as deliberate aim as it was 
possible for a highly nervous sportsman to do, under 
the circumstances. 

“ Plenty of time,” said Joe. 

— know — it ; but, bless my heart I how they 
do — bob up and down ! ” 

The ducks were, in fact, constantly in motion, 
tossing on the swells, or tipping up and darting their 
bills hither and thither. Moreover, the light on the 
water was very deceptive. One has to get used to 
shooting at objects afioat, as Joe very justly observed 
afterwards. 

I — I — rather think I’d better fire 1 ” said Au- 
gustus, in a trembling voice. 


38 


YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS. 


Seems to me, I would ; I don’t see what you’re 
waiting for/’ Joe replied. 

Mr. Bonwig fired both barrels in quick succession. 
The startled ducks rose quickly and quietly from the 
water, as if to show a due respect for his salute ; not 
a feather of either being injured. 

“ Bless my heart ! ” said Mr. Bonwig. 

You’ve had your chance ; now it’s my turn,” 
said Joe. 

He took aim with his old queen’s arm,” fired in- 
stantly, and brought down a bird. Then he fired his 
other gun, and the other duck whirled and fell into 
the sea. 

Now, I am — I am surprised!” said Augustus. 

It’s all a knack, as your father said ; and you have 
got the knack ! I am surprised 1 ” 

I’ll go down after ’em,” said Joe, while you go 
back and see if there ain’t some more ducks over 
t’other side, by this time. And haul the dory a 
little further up on the beach,” he added, “ for I’m 
afraid the tide will git it ; it’s cornin’ in fast.” 

Bonwig went, and returned in a short time, saying 
that he had left the dory safe, and that he had seen 
no game. 

Where are your old-wives ? ” he asked. Have 
n’t you been down after them yet? ” 

No,” said Joe ; I’m watchin’ them loons,” point- 
ing out to sea. If you’ll do jest what I tell ye, I 
guess we can git ’em. Sure ye left the dory all 
right? ” 


YOUNG JOE. 


39 


“ Oh, yes ! The tide won’t reach it this hour. I 
don’t see your loons though,” said Augustus. “ Yes, 
I do ! Half a mile off ! How do you expect ever to 
get them ? ” 

‘‘ I’ll git down on to that ledge that runs out into 
the water, and hide. Then I’ll holler like a loOn, and 
purty soon you’ll see ’em steerin’ right in toward 
me. But if they come near enough to find out I ain’t 
a loon, they’ll stop. So, soon as you see ’em cornin’, 
you jest wave this ’ere hankercher on yer ramrod, 
so ’s to take their eye. I carry it ’most a purpose 
for loons.” 

Joe pulled a flaming bandanna from his pocket, 
and showed Mr. Bonwig how to manage it. 

“ Loons is birds,” he said, “ that has lots of curiosity 
in their dispositions, and they’ll ’most gener’lly alluz 
come in nigh enough to see what a wavin’ red han- 
kercher means, so’s’t a feller can git a shot at ’em. 
Only,” said Joe, eying his friend’s gun wistfully, 
“it’s hard carryin’ two long, heavy guns down a 
steep clift, like this here ; and now, if you don’t care 
to go down and do the shootin’ — for you’ll be too 
fur off up here — ” 

“ Bless my heart ! ” said Augustus, looking over 
the precipice, “ I never could get down these rocks 
alive, in the world I I — I — must think of my wife 
and children ! ” 

“ Then if ye would jest lend me the loan of youi 
gun once,” said Joe. 

“ Why yes — certainly,” said Augustus, 


40 


YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS. 


“ Then you won’t be shootin’ me, ye know,” grinned 
Joe. 

Leaving his companion on the top of the cliff, he 
dropped over the edge of it, and, taking advantage 
of the loons diving, slipped down from crevice to 
crevice, and from shelf to shelf, until he had made 
his way in safety to the bottom, and concealed him- 
self on the point of rock he had mentioned. Then 
he began to halloo like a loon, with his hands behind 
his mouth to throw his voice out to sea — uttering 3 
wild, lonesome cry, which soon attracted the birds’ 
attention. They ceased their diving, and presently 
began to swim towards him. 

Bonwig now waved the handkerchief on the cliff, 
remaining himself unseen; and the loons, tacking 
and turning occasionally, and rising and falling on 
the swells, continued to approach the shore, even 
after Joe had stopped calling. 

Nearer and nearer they came, until Augustus grew 
impatient. 

“ Why don’t he fire ? Why don’t the fellow fire ? ” 
he kept saying to himself. 

But Joe knew what he was about. Aware of the 
difficulty of penetrating the loons’ breast-feathers 
with bird-shot, he wished to get them as near as 
possible, and close together, or their two heads in 
range, in order to double his chances. At last, just 
as one was darting by the other on the top of a wave, 
he fired one of Bonwig’s barrels. The nearest bird 
immediately went over on his side, and began to flap 


YOUNG JOE. 


41 


and turn on the water in a way that showed he 

had got a fatal hurt. His mate was less severely 
wounded. She tried to dive, but could not remain 
beneath the surface, and a second shot dispatched 
her. 

Then Joe climbed back up the rock. 

Why don’t you get the old- wives ? ” Augustus 
called to him. “ They are tossing about in the cove 
there.” 

“ We must bring the dory around to pick up the 
loons, anyhow,” said Joe, handing the gun over the 
edge of the clijGT, and we can get the old- wives 
then.” 

^^Why didn’t you shoot sooner?” Mr. Bonwig 
asked. 

“ Don’t you see ? ” said Joe. If I hadn’t wounded 
’em both at once, soon as I fired at one, t’other ’d 
have dove quick as wink, and most likely I shouldn’t 
have got another shot at her. They’re a terrible 
quick bird ! They’ll dodge the flash of a gun, with- 
out you’re purty near ’em.” 

Well, well ! you have got the knack, I declare ! ” 
said Mr. Bonwig. I don’t know but I shall have 
to give in to you, after all ! ” 

‘^This is a splendid gun of yourn!” said Joe, 
covetously. If I could only have this with me 
alluz, then I might do suthin’ ! But I must go for 
the dory now. You stay here and watch the loons, 
and purty soon you ’ll see me come rowin’ round the 
island,” 


42 


YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS. 


Now, why can’t I shoot like that boy ? ” Bon wig 
said to himself after Joe had gone. In the city, he 
was so green everybody laughed at him. But, bless 
my heart ! if I don’t find him my superior down here I 
I ’m afraid, if anybody deserves to be laughed at to- 
day, he isn’t the fellow, any way ! ” 

Mr. Augustus was beginning to be sick of duck- 
shooting. 

Hearing a cry in the direction Joe had gone, Mr. 
Bonwig arose and listened. Another cry, full of 
anger and distress. Augustus started to find his 
young friend, whom he presently saw hurrying back 
to meet him. 

“ You critter, you ! ” shrieked Joe, forgetting all 
deference due to his companion in the rage and per- 
plexity of the moment ; you old fat fool, you ! ” 
Bless my heart I ” said Augustus, aghast, “ what’s 
the matter?” 

Matter, you lazy lummox ! don’t you know no- 
thin’ ? ” And Joe turned back again with gestures 
of fury and despair. 

‘‘ Why ! what on earth have I done ? ” cried Mr. 
Bonwig, following him, more alarmed than angry. 
The dory ! ” said Joe, chokingly. 

“ Hey ? what ’s happened to the dory ? ” said Bon- 
wig, turning pale. “ I left it safe I ” 

You didn’t ! You said you’d haul it up out of 
reach of the tide, and you never touched it ! Now 
look a there I ” 

They had reached a commanding point of the 


YOUNG JOE. 


43 


island, from which Augustus had the satisfaction of 
seeing the little skiff afloat, and drifting quietly and 
steadily out to sea. 

“ Bless my — ! gasped the astounded candy- 
maker. “ Can’t ye swim and get it ? ” 

“Swim?” echoed Joe, with wrathful contempt. 
“ I’d like to see any man swim for that ! The wind 
has got into the north-west, and it’s carryin’ on her 
away faster’n anybody can swim 1 Why didn’t ye 
haul her up, as I told ye ? ” 

“I — really — I couldn’t see any necessity for 
it I ” said poor Mr. Bonwig. “ The waves didn’t 
touch her.” 

“ But I told you the tide was cornin’ in ! And 
couldn’t you see yourself that once in a while there 
was a big swell, bigger ’n the rest ? ’Twas one o’ 
them that started her off, and then the wind took 
her ! ” 

“ I am surprised I ” said the pale Mr. Bonwig. “ I 
don’t see how we are going to get off this island I 
And I — I promised my wife — she’ll certainly be 
looking for me to-night. I must get back to-night I ” 

“ If you do, you’ll have to swim.” And Joe sat 
down sulkily on the ledge and watched the depart- 
ing dory. 

“ What ! you don’t mean — ? ” 

“You’ll have enough of Kobinson Crusoe ’fore you 
get through ! That dory cost my father fifteen dol- 
lars I ” 

“ It ain’t possible we shall have to stay here,” 


44 


YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS. 


faltered Augustus, casting his eyes about him, and 
feeling not a bit like spouting poetry just then, and 
live on what we kill ? ” 

A feller couldn’t live very long on what you 
kill ! ” said Joe. I don’t care for sleepin’ in the 
hut, I’d jest as lief do that as not; and I can eat 
fish and wild ducks and hard bread as long as the 
next chap. But, by sixty I that dory I Dad’ll skin 
me alive if I don’t bring her back. See her go ! see 
her go ! ” And Joe whipped his legs with his hands 
despairingly. The coots are in her, too I ” with a 
fresh wail. “ And we can’t get the loons without 
her ; and mabby we can’t get the old- wives now.” 

Then if no more ducks come around, what shall 
we do ? ” said Augustus, who was a man of excellent 
appetite, never careless about his dinner. 

I guess you’ll have a chance to grow a little 
mite less pussy ’n you be now,” said Joe, beginning 
to see the humor of the situation, and to get the bet- 
ter of his despair. 

Can’t we make a signal of distress ? ” 

^‘You can try it, if you want to. But dad is 
huskin’ corn to-day; and even if he should see it, 
he’d think it was for loons. Besides, there ain’t 
another dory to the Cove, since Old Wansey’s got 
stove up by the last gale ; and dad couldn’t come 
ofi* for us if he wanted to.” 

Then,” said Augustus, “ I don’t see but that we 
are in a fix 1 ” 

Jes’ so,” said Joe. But now if you want to make 


YOUNG JOE. 


45 


a signal, I’ll show you. It must be on the highest 
spot, where it can be seen from shore, as well as by 
fishin’-boats outside.” 

The thought of something to be done put Joe into 
a good humor. 

Here’s where you was monarch of all you sur- 
veyed,” he said, with a grin, as they walked over the 
/edges ; adding, I guess the deep and dark blue 
ocean will roll on fast enough for you now, without 
waitin’ to be told I Here’s the place ! ” 

We never can make ourselves seen from this dis- 
tance,” said Bonwig, with a heavy heart. 

We can try.” 

But what can we make a signal of? A hand- 
kerchief is nothing I ” 

Take my shirt, — I can spare that better than I 
can my coat, in this wind,” said Joe ; and he pro- 
ceeded to divest himself of that useful but not in- 
dispensable garment. 

He thrust a gun-barrel into one of the sleeves at 
the wrist, and thence through the shoulders of the 
shirt into the other sleeve, which he tied into a knot 
over the muzzle. 

“ Now, there’s your banner ! ” said he, waving it 
aloft. 

Well, I declare I ” said Augustus, you’ve done 
it I Long may it wave ! ” as Joe flourished the pale 
ensign in the breeze. ^‘Though there’s a prospect 
of its waving long enough, without wishing it par- 
ticularly. But, as a signal of distress, it seems to me 


46 YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS. 

there’s something not quite right. Don’t they usu- 
ally have the union down ? ” 

“ Shirts hain’t got no union,” said Joe. And he 
began to sing, “ ^Tis the star-spangled banner in a 
cheerful and enlivening manner. 

Being one of those brave-hearted lads whose spir- 
its always rise in the presence of danger and diflS- 
culty, and having recovered from the chagrin of 
losing the dory, he was now in a merrier mood than 
he had been at any time that morning. 

It won’t take long for this wind to whip a shirt 
into ravelins ! ” said he. “ After it has flopped mine 
all to pieces, then we’ll take your’n. Then, when 
that’s gone, we’ll run up our jackets, and then our 
trouse’s, for we’re bound to keep the signal flyin’ I ” 
Mr. Bonwig could not see the fun of the thing, but 
kept a dismal countenance, thinking of his wife and 
children. 

You needn’t be so anxious about suthin’ to eat,” 
remarked Joe. It’ll take you a good while longer 
to starve than it would most people. My uncle was 
in a ship that was lost once, and was three weeks on 
a raft in the Pacific Ocean, with seven other men, 
and he said three of the men died, and all the rest 
come within one of it ; only there was a fat man with 
’em, — weighed about two hundred and fifty when 
they took to the raft, — he stood it he kept grow- 
ing lighter an’ lighter, and fresher and fresher ; he 
weighed about a hundred and was spry as a cricket 
when a vessel finally picked ’em up. He had lived 


YOUNG JOE. 47 

all the while on his own fat — like a bear in 
winter.” 

This pleasant anecdote did not seem to afford Mr. 
Bonwig very much comfort. The idea of living on 
his fat for any length of time was not cheering. He 
had no doubt whatever of growing lighter and 
lighter on that diet ; but as for growing fresher and 
fresher^ that did not appear to him to be among the 
probabilities. No, — Mr. Augustus Bonwig could 
not indulge a hope of ever becoming spry as a 
cricket, in that way. 

•‘Your father must grow anxious about you if 
you don’t come home, and he can find a dory some- 
where,” said he. 

“ My father never ’s anxious about me when I’m 
off duck-shootin’,” replied Joe. “ Once I got lost in 
a fog, rowin’ from Pippin P’int. I got turned about 
somehow. I kept rowin’ and rowin’, but couldn’t 
find no land ; and night come on, dark as Egypt — 
and there I was ! No supper, no north star, no com- 
pass, no overcoat, — discouragin’, I tell you ! I 
rowed all night to keep warm, and in hopes of 
touchin’ land somewheres ; — and it wasn’t half so 
comf’table as we’ll find it in that house to-night, 
burnin’ the Humane Society’s wood and eatin’ the 
Humane Society’s crackers, and tellin’ stories, — not 
half! Wal, mornin’ come, but the fog didn’t lift, 
and I didn’t know where I was any more’n I did 
before ; but I kept on rowin’ and rowin’, only when 
I stopped to rest, which was purty often now, — 1 


48 


YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS. 


was gittin’ used up. No supper, and no breakfast ! 
The sea was calm ; the fog was so heavy it seemed 
to press it right down flat. I couldn’t see more’n an 
oar’s length or two ahead of me. So the forenoon 
wore on. By-m-by I give up, — no supper, no break- 
fast, no dinner, — it was beginning to tell on me. 
You’ve no idee how a feller’ll shrink, without eatin’ 
or sleepin’ for twenty-four hours I It seemed to 
me I’d got dad’s clo’es on. I’d hollered myself 
hoarse ; but in that fog, it was like a man’s hollerin’ 
in his grave. You needn’t look so sorry ; why,” said 
Joe, this here island, in fine weather, is paradise to 
an open boat in a fog ! ” 

“ How did you finally get ashore ? ” asked Au- 
gustus. 

Wind changed, and fog lifted all of a sudden, 
jest afore sundown. And where do ye s’pose I was ? 
Almost within gunshot o’ the Cove ! I jest rowed 
ashore, hauled up the dory, and walked into the 
house. There sot dad, a-smokin’, comfortable as 
could be. ^Where’s yer ducks, boy?’ says he the 
fust thing. ‘ Didn’t git none,’ says I. ‘ Why, where 
ye been all this time? ’ says he ; ^ and hain’t got nary 
duck ! ’ ^ Oh, paddlin’ round in the fog,’ says I. * Ain’t 
ye hungry?’ says my mother, — she was gittin’ 
supper. ‘ Wal, I be some hungry,’ says I. And 
supper did taste mighty good that night, I tell ye 1 ” 

Wasn’t your family concerned about you? ” said 
Mr. Bonwig. 

What was the use of bein’ consarned? There 


YOUNG JOE. 


49 


was no gale ; and they knowed I^d come home agin 
some time/^ said Joe. “I did come home, and I 
brought the dory. Dad’ll be dreadful worked, if I 
don’t bring it this time ! Look I it’s ’most out of 
sight ! ” 

‘‘ That seems to be all you care about ! ” 

“Why shouldn’t it be? We’ll do well enough. 
It won’t be many days afore somebody’ll be cornin’ 
off here a-fishin’, and see us.” 

“ Many days I ” groaned Augustus. “ I’m getting 
hungry already I ” 

“ Wal,” said Joe, “ you keep the flag a- wavin’, and 
I’ll go and see what 1 can do for dinner.” 

4 


50 


YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS. 


V. 


THE FATE OF THE CASTAWAYS. 

Borrowing Mr. Bonwig’s gun once more, Joe re- 
turned to the spot where he had shot the “ old- 
wives.’’ They were still tossing on the surges in 
the inlet below. He descended the cliff, took off his 
clothes, plunged into the water, and brought out the 
birds. 

Then climbing to the top of the cliff again, he held 
up the game, to the delight of Bonwig’s hungry 
eyes. 

If you’ll dress and cook them,” said Augustus, 
I will keep the signal waving.” 

I ought to ketch a few fish first,” said Joe, ’fore 
the tide is up. You can’t ketch nippers so well at 
high water, for then they’re feedin’ on the barnacles 
and things, on the rocks.” 

What ’s nippers ? ” said Augustus. 

“ Gunners,” said Joe, amazed at such ignorance. 
“ Don’t you know ? What you had for supper last 
night, and for breakfast agin this mornin’.” 

“ Oh ! salt-water perch I Of course, I know,” 
said Mr. Bonwig, remembering how good they were. 

It would be fine if we could get a few to keep the 
ducks company 1 But you’ve no pole nor line.” 


YOUNG JOE. 


51 


“ I alluz carry lines in my pocket/' said Joe, and 
I don’t need a pole." 

“ But you've no worms I " 

I can find bait enough. I'll look out for all that, 
if you'll keep the star-spangled sheet a-wavin'." 

Joe laughed as he looked back and saw his portly 
friend flourishing the white flag, as if for dear life. 
“ That exercise will do him good," thought he. The 
trouble with that 'air feller is, he 's so lazy. He was 
too lazy for to give the dory a little lift ; and now 
see where we be ! And don't I remember how easy 
that boat rowed I — to him a-settin' comf'r'ablo in 
the stern." 

He went down on the rocks by the water's edge, 
laid down his gun, — or rather Mr. Bonwig's, — and 
taking a ball of line from his pocket, proceeded to 
unwind it. At the inside end he found a heavy 
sinker, a corn-cob, and a hook sticking into it. 
Putting the cob back into his pocket, to be used in 
winding the line up again afterwards, he looked 
about for bait. The rocks below high-water mark 
were covered with barnacles as with a gray scum, 
and dotted here and there with periwinkles (Joe 
called them cockles) clinging to the ledge. Of these 
he gathered a handful, and laid them down by his 
gun. Then, having baited his hook from one of 
them, he threw in." He stood on the brink of a 
steep rock, and the heavy sinker carried the line 
down in the deep water beside it, notwithstanding 
the dashing waves. 


52 


YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS. 


All was quiet for a minute or two. Then he felt 
a little jerk. He gave a little jerk in return, and 
perceived that he had hooked something. He 
hauled up the line hand-over-hand, and a fine large 
cunner fell flopping on the ledge. He baited and 
threw in again, and had many nips, (the cunner is 
notorious for nipping at your bait, and getting it 
without getting the hook ; hence the term nipper j) 
and now and then drew up a fish. In half an hour 
he found he had caught a handsome string. 

All this time he kept a keen look-out for game. 
And now he saw a flock of black ducks come flying 
low along the waves toward the island. They passed 
so near to him that he might easily have brought 
down a pair, but as they would have fallen into the 
water, and as he had no dory to pick them up, he, 
with admirable self-denial for so young a gunner, 
stood, piece in hand, and saw them pass. 

Arrived at the end of the island, instead of alight- 
ing, they wheeled, and, rising, returned in a broad 
circle over it. 

Augustus had seen them coming, in the first 
place, and dropped his signal, and himself beside 
it, hoping for a shot. When they passed the island, 
he was quite wild with excitement, and came very 
near firing Joe's shirt at them. The distance at 
which they flew, from where he lay, was probably 
all that saved the shirt — and the birds. Before they 
returned, the sportsman had time to exchange the 
“ queen's arm," which served as a flag-staff, for the 


YOUNG JOE. 53 

other, which had no sleeve tied over the end of it, 
and to place himself in readiness. 

If they’ll only come again I thought he. I 
believe there’s something in the gun, after aU. 
Those are real duck guns I They’re so heavy, I 
believe I can hold one steadier than I can my little 
light thing. By George ! there they come ! ” 

They flew so directly over the summit of the 
island, that Mr. Bonwig, afraid to get up and show 
himself, rolled over on his back, pointed the 
queen’s arm ” up into the air, and fired. 

The flock veered at sight of him, even before the 
flash ; and that was probably the reason why he did 
not kill a great many. He thought at first he had 
killed none. But the rocks below had barely had 
time to send back two sharp echoes of his shot (a 
very singular phenomenon, if Augustus had only 
stopped to consider it), when three ducks, one after 
the other, dropped down headlong out of the flock, 
and fell upon the island. 

Bonwig ran down to them, with cries of exulta- 
tion. At the same time Joe came crawling up over 
the ledge, with Bonwig’s gun in one hand, and the 
string of fish in the other. 

See that ? and that ? and that ? ” cried Augus- 
tus, holding up the ducks triumphantly. “Who 
said ’twouldn’t take long to eat all I kill ? ” 

Joe stood still, fish in one hand and gun in the 
other, and grinned at him. 

See how fat they are 1 1 picked for the plump- 


54 


YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS. 


est, and then took aim. Waited till I got three in 
range. Never was so cool about anything in my 
life. If you have any more ducks to shoot, bring 
^em on. What are you laughing at? I suppose 
you 11 say I didn’t kill these, won’t you ? ” said the 
jubilant sportsman. 

“ ’Twas your gun that killed them, fast enough,” 
replied Joe, chuckling over the joke. 

Of course it was ! ” But Mr. Bonwig meant one 
gun, while Joe meant another. This is a regular 
old-fashioned duck-shooter!” — holding up the old 
queen’s arm. “ I can handle it a great deal better 
than I can my piece. It has got so used to it, it 
seems almost to aim itself. It’s nothing to shoot 
ducks with this gun ! Three at a shot ! what will 
my wife say to that ? Bless my heart ! ” And he 
praised the ducks again. 

Joe laughed so that his knees began to give way 
under him, and his body to double up, and his hands 
to forget their cunning ; he dropped the fish, he 
dropped the gun, and finally dropped himself — 
tumbling over and rolling on the rocks in convul- 
sions of mirth. 

^^Now what’s the fun?” said Mr. Bonwig, an- 
noyed. 

You’ve got the knack I you’ve got the knack ! ” 
said Joe, winking away his tears. 

What do you mean ? ” Augustus demanded, 
sternly, for he suspected that he was the subject of 
merriment. 


YOUNG JOE. 


55 


“ Did the birds drop the very minute you fired ? ” 

Why, no, not the instant ; they were so aston- 
ished ; they had to take time to consider it ; that 
is, they were flying so fast, it was a second or two 
before they could change their course and come 
down.^^ 

And didn’t you hear any other gun?” 

“ Why, — my shot — echoed ! ” said Augustus. 

How many times ? ” 

“ Twice ; I do believe it was a sort of double 
echo.” 

“ That was the echo 1 ” said Joe, holding up the 
double-barrelled piece, and then immediately going 
into convulsions again. 

Augustus seized it. He remembered that it was 
loaded when it last went into Joe’s hands ; and now, 
nervously shoving down the ramrod, he found the 
barrels empty. He still stoutly insisted, however, 
that he had killed the ducks ; but it was with a 
flushed face and a greatly disturbed look. 

“ If you did, you beat me with your knack I ” 
said Joe. 

How so ? Explain yourself. Do stop that 
confounded giggling, and explain yourself I ” said 
Bonwig. 

I can’t kill ducks without any shot in my gun ; 
and there wasn’t any shot in the gun you fired I ” 

That’s a — a — likely story I ” gasped poor Mr. 
Bonwig. 

You see,” said Joe, I was goin’ to leave the old 


56 


YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS. 


guns with you, and I was afraid you^d be sheetin’ at 
me, as yeu did afere ; se I didn’t put any shet inte 
’em ! Try t’ether ene, and see ! ” 

Augustus drew the wad frem the flag-staff, and 
feund enly pewder beneath it. He then sat dewn 
dejectedly en the ledge*, and remained theughtful 
fer a leng while. At last he said : 

Ceme, Jee, we’ve feeled abeut eneugh ; it’s time 
te think ef getting ashere.” 

“ It’s ^ nothing to shoot ducks with that gun 1 ’ — 
^ three at a shot T ‘ it aims itself 1 ’ Oh, he 1 he ! 
he!” 

“ Ceme ! ” said Augustus, sharply. Hew abeut 
dinner ? ” 

^^Yeu ^picked for the plumpest^ and then took 
aim!^^' cried Jee. Waited till you got them in 
range !’ — ^ never was so cool in your life! ’ Oh, he ! 
I shall die ! ” And he relied en the recks again. 

Mr. Benwig had suddenly ence mere grewn ex- 
tremely anxieus abeut their situatien. He stretched 
the shirt en the queen’s arm again, and began te 
wave it with great selemnity. 

Jee then sat up, stepped laughing, teek a knife 
frem his pecket, and then and there cemmenced 
dressing the fish fer dinner. 

Yeu’ve get a nice string there I ” the hungry 
Augustus at last remarked, regarding the precess 
wistfully. 

Jee said it was a nice string. He made ne fur- 
ther allusien te Mr. Benwig’s remarkable spertsman- 


YOUNG JOE. 


57 


ship (although he would now and then be taken with 
a stitch in his ribs, a cramp in his stomach, or spasms 
in the muscles of his face, which he found it hard 
to overcome) ; and from that moment the two were 
good friends again. 

“ I must find a board somewhere ; and I guess I 
better be startin’ the fire.” And Joe carried his fish 
and game down to the house of refuge, where he 
could give occasional vent to his mirth, without 
hurting his friend’s feelings. 

Leaving Mr. Bonwig to wave the signal and keep 
a look-out, he made preparations for dinner. “ I 
wouldn’t burn up this wood to make chowders, as 
the fellers do,” thought he ; but aren’t we sort of 
shipwrecked ? ” And he comforted his conscience 
with the reflection that the Humane Society would 
approve of what he was doing. 

At last he called Mr. Bonwig to dinner. That 
hungry gentleman made haste to prop up the 
standard with stones, and obeyed the joyful sum- 
mons. 

Joe,” said he, catching the savory odor of the 
cooking as he entered the hut, I am surprised I 
Who would have thought you could get up such a 
dinner ? ” 

This bench is the table, these clam-shells are 
the plates ; use your pocket-knife, and your fingers 
are the fork,” said Joe proudly. “ Now taste o’ the 
fish, and see how sweet they are, without salt nor 
nothin’ on ’em.” 


58 


YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS. 


Glorious ! cried Augustus. But what’s that 
on the coals ? ” 

“Pieces of your ducks a-brilin’/’ said Joe. 

“ Now look here, Joe ! ” remonstrated Augustus. 

“ Did you re’lly think you shot ’em? ” Joe asked. 

“ My imagination was excited ; that’s all I have 
to say — my imagination was excited.” And now 
Augustus himself had to laugh. 

Joe had seated himself astride one end of the 
bench, facing Mr. Bonwig ; and Mr. Bonwig had 
seated himself astride the other end, facing Joe ; 
and there they feasted ; — Joe turning occasionally 
to take up a fish from the coals with a sharp stick, 
or to turn the broiling morsels of wild duck. 

“Dinner ’s a good invention,*’ said Augustus. 

“ And I hain’t nothin’ petickler to say agin a fire — 
arter a feller ’s been around an hour, in a cold north- 
wester, without his shirt on,” said Joe. 

“We shan’t fare so badly, at this rate,” observed 
Mr. Bonwig, resignedly. 

“We shall fare well enough; all I think on now 
is that plaguy dory,” replied Joe. 

“ I’ll make that all right with your father, if we 
ever get ashore again; so don’t worry about the 
dory.” 

“ By sixty ! Will ye, though ? That improves 
my appetite ! Guess I’ll try a drumstick.” 

He took a duck’s leg in his fingers, and put on his 
cap. “ Finish yer dinner,” said he, “ and I’ll go out 
and tend the signal.” 


YOUNG JOE. 


59 


That’s a good boy ! ” said Augustus, feeling 
easier in his mind, for he had scarcely begun his 
dinner yet, although he had eaten two perch to Joe^s 
one, and game in proportion. 

In half an hour Joe came running back, and found 
his amiable friend fast asleep on the straw ; that 
rosy and plump gentleman having been unable to 
resist the drowsiness which overcame him almost 
before the conclusion of his repast. ‘‘ I guess Joe 
will look after the signal,” was his comfortable re- 
flection, as he stretched himself on the straw. For 
my part, I’m tired of standing on a bleak rock, in a 
northwest wind, waving a shirt on an old gun- 
barrel I ” And he gave himself up to delicious 
slumber. 

Joe regarded him with disgust ; but he did not 
wake him. Lazy lummox ! I’ll come up with him,” 
said he ; and off he went again. 

Another half hour elapsed, when Mr. Bonwig 
awoke from a vivid dream of firing into a flock of 
old queen’s arms, that flew over his candy-shop in 
town, and doing great damage to a number of inno- 
cent persons who happened to be passing in the 
street when the shattered barrels and butt-ends 
came rattling down upon them. 

“ Hello ! ” said he. “ Eel-lo I ” looking about him. 
“ I’d quite forgotten I was cast away I I wonder if 
Joe has signalled anything yet.” 

He went out, and found the signal gone. The gun 


60 


YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS. 


was lying on the rocks ; but neither Joe, nor Joe^s 
shirt, was anywhere to be seen. 

The rogue has found some means of getting off; 
he has left me his old flint-lock, and deserted me ! 
was Mr. Bonwig’s first appalling thought. 

He wandered about in great distress of mind for 
some minutes, calling loudly on Joe. Finally the 
report of a gun made answer. With gladdened 
heart he hastened in the direction of the sound, and 
saw Joe on the beach where they had first landed, 
picking up a brace of plover he had just shot. 

Whereas the signal?” Augustus asked, mildly, 
conscious of culpable neglect on his own part. I 
thought you said you would keep that waving.” 

“Didn’t I?” said Joe, “forever so long after I 
left you ! Then I went back and found you snoozin’. 
So I made up my mind, if that was all you cared 
for gittin’ ashore, I wouldn’t trouble myself any 
longer.” 

“ But — Joseph 1 ” Bonwig remonstrated, — “ this 
won’t do 1 We must wave the signal.” 

“ Wave it then ! though I little ’druther ye 
wouldn’t ; it scares the game.” 

“ What have you done with the shirt ? ” 

“ Put it on, of course ! I was cold, and I went to 
huntin’, to get warm.” 

“ Oh, now, let’s have it again I ” said Augustus, 
coaxingly. 

“ Nary shirt I ” replied Joe, obstinately. “ Use 
yer own, — it’s your turn this time.” 



Mr. Bonivig strips. — Page 61 






YOUNG JOE. 


61 


Bonwig coaxed, and made offers of money, and 
various promises of future favors, all to no purpose. 
Joe buttoned his coat all the more tightly, and de- 
clared that he would not part with his shirt again, 
alive. 

Augustus looked all around for succor; he saw 
sails in the distance, but not one near ; and, after 
some moments of sad hesitation, he began to unbut- 
ton his hunting-jacket. The winds cut him. 

“ 111 give you a heap of candy, if you only will, 
Joe ! '' 

“Who knows youll ever see your candy-shop 
agin ? ” said Joe. 

Augustus unbuttoned two more buttons. 

“ 111 send down a trunkful by express ! 

Still Joe would not yield. Bonwig unbuttoned 
the last button. Joe began to roar with laughter 
again. Augustus was actually taking off his shirt, 
preparatory to sticking it upon the gun-barrel, when 
he evidently began to suspect mischief. 

“ Now, what’s the joke ? ” 

“ Come over here, and 111 show you ! Bring 
everything. We’re going ashore now.” 

“ Going ashore ! ” said the mystified Augustus. 

Joe made no answer, but led him around to the 
point from which the dory had gone adrift, and 
showed it, hauled up there again as snugly as if 
nothing unusual had happened to it. 

“Well, now! I am surprised! Now — then — 
bless my heart ! ” said the amazed Augustus. 


62 YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS. 

When you was asleep/^ said Joe, I went in to 
tell . you there was a sail-boat heatin’ up towards 
us, with a dory in tow, but you was snorin’. So I 
got mad, and left ye. It was our dory. They had 
picked her up at sea, and looked in the direction the 
wind was blowin’ from, and seen our signal with a 
glass ; and as they was out for fun, they jest beat up 
here to us. They picked up the loons by the way ; 
and I give ’em the loons and two black ducks and 
an old-wife, for bringin’ her in ; and first-rate, tip-top 
chaps they was, too ; and they wanted to pay me for 
the ducks, but I wouldn’t take no pay, of course ! 
And here the dory was tied, all the while you was 
trying to have me to take ofi* my shirt agin, and then 
takin’ ofl’ your own ! ” 

Well, I ami I don’t think I was ever so 
agreeably surprised in my life ! ” said Mr. Bonwig. 

I may get back to town yet to-night. How long 
will it take to row ashore ? ’’ 

Oh, not long,” said Joe, this boat rows so easyT 

Look here I I believe I was going to row back,” 
said Bonwig. You row till I finish this cigar.” 

When he had finished the cigar, they were within 
half a mile of the Cove. 

He thought he was goin’ to do wonders,” said 
Joe afterwards, telling the story of their early sport- 
ing days. He took the oars, and give a tremenjous 
pull, as if he was goin’ to send us home with two 
strokes ; but jest as he was strainin’ with all his 
might, they slipped out of the rullocks, and away he 


YOUNG JOE. 


63 


went, over backwards, and heels over head into the 
bottom of the boat, with his legs stridin’ up over 
the thwart, and his arms spread like a shag’s wings, 
and his head and shoulders in a puddle of water, in 
the bottom of the dor3\ It must have hurt him 
some ; but, for the life of me, I couldn’t help laugh- 
in’. He got up, brushed the water off, and said he 
was surprised ! I let him try it over again, and we 
began to make a track like a sea-serpent’s, zigzag, 
zigzag. But I let him work. 

“ ^ It surprises me,’ says I, ‘ to see how easy this 
boat rows ! ’ He didn’t say nothin’, but turned red 
as ever you see a biled lobster ; and didn’t he sweat 
and blow ! Then we came to the breakers. They 
warn’t more’n half so high as they was in the morniii’, 
or I never should a’ let him row on to ’em. But I 
thought ’twould be fun. We went over the first one 
slick enough. With the second one, the boat began 
to skew ; and the third one took us broadside. ’Twas 
a wrecker, I tell you ! And didn’t it heave and twist 
us ! We came within one of choppin’ over ! and you 
never see a chap so scared ! He pulled first one 
oar, then t’other ; we turned completely around, 
and was puttin’ out to sea agin afore we knowed it ! 

Bless my heart, Joe,’ says he, ^ take the oars ! 
Take ’em ! I wouldn’t row on to the breakers again 
for a million dollars ! ’ 

But I ought not to say a word agin Bonwig,” 
adds Joe, laughing, whenever he tells the story to 
his children, — for this adventure, as I said in the 


64 


YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS. 


beginning, happened years ago ; he is no longer 
Young Joe, he is Old Joe now. He was a first- 
rate, tip-top feller, arter all. And his conduct to me 
was right down handsome, when I took him over to 
town in our wagon, — for he was too late for the 
stage. ' Joe,’ said he, jest afore we got to his house, 
‘ I believe, with your father, that shootin’ ducks is a 
knack ; rowin’ a dory in the breakers requires a 
knack, too. I’m gettin’ too old and clumsy to learn 
to do either ; and I believe I shan’t try again. And 
now, Joe, my boy,’ says he, ‘ as I don’t expect to use 
my gun again, and as you seem to take such a fancy 
to it, and as you have been so very kind to me, in 
spite of your jokes, I’ve concluded,’ says he, ^ to 
make you a present.’ And what did the gay old chap 
do but slip that beautiful double-shooter into my 
hand I Didn’t the salt spray come into my eyes ? and 
warn’t I the proudest and happiest boy in thirteen 
counties, at that moment ? And haven’t I kept that 
rare old stub-twist shootin’-iron all these years, to 
remember Bonwig by ? ” 

And Joe takes down the piece from over the chim- 
ney corner, and shows it again to his children. 


SIMON CANFORD 


AND 

HIS DOG CAKLO. 


S IMON CANFORD lived with a hard man, and he 
had hard work and a plenty of it to do ; but there 
was one thing about it which he liked. 

Mr. Wiggin, his employer, had a small poultry 
farm over on the Jersey shore, and he used often to 
send his chickens to market in a boat. Simon^ 
though only seventeen years old, was sometimes 
intrusted with this part of the business, and it was 
the part which, as I have said, he liked. 

But liked is a very mild word for it. To push his 
skiff into the creek in the early morning, row out 
upon the great, broad, flashing river, and hoist his 
little sail to the breeze, if there was one ; then go 
dashing away on the bright waves in the company 
of other sail-boats, amidst ships, and barges, and 
steamers, sometimes so near that he was tossed on 
their wakes ; to breathe the cool salt air, and leisure- 
ly watch everything as he guided his little craft, — 
this was all a keen delight to the boy Simon. 

6 65 


66 YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS. 

One day he had been over to the city, and sold his 
turkeys and chickens, when, as he was returning to 
his boat with a basket of groceries, whistling and 
thinking of the pleasant voyage home, he saw a 
sight which made him turn aside into a dirty street 
near the river. 

Some boys were tormenting a dog. Amid their 
shouts and laughter could be heard the poor creat- 
ure's yelps of pain and terror. Simon couldn't stand 
that. He ran to the spot. 

What are you doing ? " he cried, making his way 
into the crowd of boys. 

“ Having some fun," said a ragged, grinning, dirty- 
faced urchin, who was looking on. 

Fun I I should say so I " said Simon. “ Whose 
dog is that ? " 

Jeff Holand’s," replied the dirty-faced boy. 

“Who is Jeff Holand? Where is he?" Simon 
demanded. 

“ That's’ him there, tyin' the tarred paper to the 
dog’s tail," said the dirty-faced boy. 

Simon stepped up to Jeff Holand. 

“ Is this your dog ? " he asked. 

“ Yes, it is ! " the fellow answered, shortly. “ What 
'ave you got to say about it ? " 

“ I say it's a mean thing you're doing ! " Simon 
exclaimed, keeping down his angry feelings as well 
as he could. “ What has the dog done to you to de- 
serve such treatment ? " 

“Hone?" laughed the fellow. “He hain't done 


SIMON CANFORD AND HIS DOG CARLO. 67 

nothin^ ; that^s the trouble. He^s the meanest pup 
you ever see ! All he^s good for is to have a little 
fun with, and wehe goin^ to have it. Where’s the 
matches, Jim ? ” 

“ You’re not going to set fire to that tarred paper 
tied to his tail ? ” 

Yes, that’s jest what I’m goin’ to do. Be ready,” 
said Jeff Holand to a boy who was holding the dog ; 

slip the rope from his collar, and let him scud the 
minute I say the word.” 

Jeff was a boy about Simon’s own age. He wore 
good clothes, and yet there was something coarse 
and repulsive in his looks. There were other boys 
quite as old as he, but none so well dressed, assist- 
ing him, and a dozen or more of all sizes look- 
ing on. 

It was a crowd Simon did not like the looks of. 
Besides, the basket in his hand containing the gro- 
ceries he had bought for Mrs. Wiggin, and Mr. Wig- 
gin’s money in his pocket, obtained from the sale of 
the poultry, made him timid. It wouldn’t do for him 
to get into a quarrel with these young roughs, and 
yet he could not bear to see the dog tormented. He 
glanced up and down the street, hoping to see a po- 
liceman, but there was none in sight. 

‘^Look here,” said Simon, coming quickly to a 
resolution, if you don’t want him, give him to me.” 

Give him to you!” echoed Jeff Holand, jeer 
ingly. What would I give him to you for?” 


08 YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS. 

“ To get rid of him, of course, if he^s good for 
nothing.’^ 

“But he is good for something, — to have fun 
with.” And Jeff prepared to strike a match on the 
curbstone. 

Fortunately it broke. That saved Simon the trou- 
ble of knocking it from his hand, for he was now 
determined to save the dog at all hazards. 

“Well, I’ll buy him of you,” he said, as Jeff was 
reaching for another match. 

“ WhaFll ye give ? ” Jeff asked. 

“ A shilling,” Simon answered. 

It was in the old days of York shilling pieces, 
value twelve and a half cents. Simon took one from 
his pocket, and made a tender of it to Jeff, who only 
laughed at him. 

“ I’ll give two,” said Simon. “ That will buy you 
a good deal more and a good deal better fun than 
you can torture out of this poor dog.” 

“ Say half a dollar and it’s a bargain,” said Jeff. 
“ He’s a first-rate dog, — he’s a spaniel.’^ 

He was about to strike another match. 

Half-dollars were not plenty with Simon. He had 
to work hard for his food and clothes (poor clothes 
they were, too,) and one dollar a month. Two 
weeks’ wages it would take to rescue the spaniel, 
and what should he do with him then? 

Jeff struck the match. 

“I’ll give it ! ” cried Simon, thrusting his foot be- 
tween the tarred paper and Jeff’s hand. 


SIMON CANFOIID AND HIS DOG CARLO. 69 


All right ! ” said Jeff. Lemme see the color 
of your half-dollar.’^ 

Simon showed the money, and the trade was con- 
cluded. 

“ What’s his name ? ” he asked, as he took hold 
of the rope to lead the poor trembling spaniel 
away. 

Carlo ; it’s engraved on the collar here,” said 
J eff. “ But you can’t have the collar ; that’s worth 
more than the dog, — nor the rope, neither.” 

Keep your collar and rope, then,’^ said Simon. 
“ I don’t care.” 

He took from his pocket some cord which he had 
used for tying the legs of his chickens together, and 
soon had one end fast to the dog’s neck. The collar, 
meanwhile, was unbuckled and pocketed by Jeff, 
who then ran off to spend his half-dollar, while Simon 
walked in the other direction with his dog. 

Carlo went willingly, for he was a knowing animal, 
and it had not taken long for him to learn that he 
had fallen into the hands of a friend. His cringing 
head was lifted, his drooping tail rose also with his 
rising confidence, and by the time Simon reached 
his boat, the happy and grateful creature was caper- 
ing by his side. 

Simon was delighted. 

He’s a great deal better dog than I thought,” he 
said, turning to admire him. He’s well fed, too. I 
wonder how that scamp ever got to own him. Carlo ! 
Carlo I ” 


70 YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS. 

And Simon felt a thrill of joy when Carlo jumped 
up and licked his hands. 

He’s a splendid fellow I ” he exclaimed. I 
wouldn’t sell him for — not for ten dollars ! But ” 
— a wave of trouble rolled over his content — what 
will old Mr. Wiggin say?” 

He got the dog into the boat, hoisted sail, and 
pushed off. Carlo was tied at first to the thwart, 
but once well away from the shore, Simon released 
him and took him into the stern. With one hand on 
the tiller, and the other on the neck of the animal 
at his side, he was happier than he had ever been 
in his life. The poor, lonely, hard -worked boy had 
now something to love. 

“ A hundred dollars wouldn’t buy him ! ” he ex- 
claimed aloud, as he patted Carlo’s head, and stroked 
his soft, beautiful ears. “ I wouldn’t part with him 
for anything ! How handsome he is ! He’s the 
handsomest dog I ever saw ! ” 

And in his new-born pride and affection he gave 
Carlo a caress. Carlo in return whined wistfully and 
fondly, and licked his new master’s face. 

The boy’s heart was almost too full of happiness. 
It overfiowed into his eyes. That is the reason, I 
suppose, why he didn’t see a fast yacht coming right 
down upon his port bow. It was, in fact, hidden by 
his sail, yet our careful young boatman would have 
seen it at any other time. He was a little too much 
occupied with Carlo just then. 

A shout from on board the yacht gave him warn- 


SIMON CANFOBD AND HIS DOG CARLO. 71 


ing. He quickly brought his boat to the wind, the 
yacht at the same time veered from its course, and 
passed close by his stern. In the confusion of the 
moment he allowed his hat to be knocked off by the 
flapping sail. 

What did you try to run across my bows for ? 
cried the helmsman of the yacht. There, you’ve 
lost your hat, and good enough for you ! ” 

What did you try to run across my bows for ? ” 
Simon retorted. Didn’t you see I had the right 
of way ? Carlo ! ” 

The dog, who had been up and watching eagerly 
for a moment, gave a spring. Simon resolved to 
catch him, — too late. Had he seen somebody he 
knew on board the yacht ? 

I’ve lost him ! ” thought the boy, as Carlo 
splashed into the water and went paddling away, 
snuffing, with his nose in the air. 

But, joyful surprise I Carlo was not going for the 
yacht. He was swimming towards his new master’s 
old straw hat, afloat on the water. 

That’s a good dog you’ve got, any way ! ” cried 
the captain of the yacht. What will you take for 
him?” 

A thousand dollars ! ” Simon shouted back, in that 
moment of joy feeling that he would not take a cent 
less. 

If he had learned to love his new friend before, 
what shall we say of him after this prompt and faith- 
ful service? 


72 


YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS. 


The boat, brought to the wind, drifted back 
towards the dog. The dog, with the hat in his 
mouth, and dragging in the water in spite of him, 
swam with difficulty towards the boat. 

He would have tried to save that old hat if he 
had drowned for it I ” said Simon, as he reached out 
and drew Carlo into the boat. Good fellow ! No- 
ble Carlo ! ’’ 

And wet as the spaniel was, Simon gave him a 
good hugging then and there. 

He had, meanwhile, forgotten all about Mr. Wig- 
gin. But quite too soon he had reason to remember 
him. 

He had hardly got his boat ashore, in the midst 
of the geese and ducks, squawking and quacking in 
the water before the poultry-yard, when the old man 
came down to meet him. 

What ye got there, Simon ? was the first stern 
question. 

A dog ! the finest spaniel you ever saw I 

And Simon, with his eager praises, tried to fore- 
stall the old man’s prejudices. 

Finest fiddlesticks ! ” exclaimed the old man. 
“ What ye going to do with him ? ” 

I hope you’ll let me keep him,” said Simon. 

“ Keep him ! What do we want such a whelp as 
that for, eating us out of house and home ? A worth- 
less pup ! ” said the old man. 

He won’t eat much, and he’ll be handy to send 


SIMON CANFORD AND HIS DOG CARLO. 73 


into the water after the geese and ducks when we 
want to drive them anywhere.’^ 

And Simon went on, earnestly setting forth the 
advantages of possessing such a dog. But nothing 
could convince the old man. 

Carlo received a like welcome from Mrs. Wiggin ; 
and he would have been left to starve if Simon had 
not saved a part of his own dinner for him, and gone 
hungry himself, that the poor spaniel might be fed. 

For two days Carlo was frowned upon, and Simon 
was blamed and scolded for bringing him home. 
Then, all at once, there was a change. 

Mr. Wiggin sat reading his newspaper after din- 
ner. Suddenly, he gave a start and looked out 
quickly at Simon, who was playing with the dog on 
the doorstep. 

Did that dog have a collar on when you found 
him ? ” 

“ Yes, sir; but the boy took it off,’’ Simon answered. 

Any name on it ? 

Yes, the dog’s name. Carlo. I didn’t notice any- 
thing else.” 

The old man coughed, puckered his lips, adjusted 
his glasses, and returned to his newspaper. A min- 
ute later, Simon saw him cutting something out of it 
with the old lady’s scissors. 

Mr. Wiggin passed the slip to Mrs. Wiggin. She 
looked at it, exclaimed, Why, massy sakes ! ” and 
passed it back to Mr. Wiggin. 

Mr. Wiggin placed it in his pocket-book, drew his 


74 YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS. 

lips in again with a satisfied expression, and once 
more looked out on Simon and his companion. 

“ Has that dog had a good dinner ? ’’ he inquired. 

I gave him a little something/’ Simon confessed. 

Well, give him some more,” said the old man. 
“ Wife, see what you can pick up for him. If we 
keep a dog, we must feed him. And if we feed 
him,” he added after a pause, he ought to be our 
dog. You won’t object to give up your claim to him, 
will ye, Simon ? ” 

The boy hardly knew what to say, so great was 
his astonishment. 

I believe you told us you gave half a dollar for 
him,” the old man went on, while Simon was think- 
ing what answer to make. ‘‘ I don’t mind paying ye 
that. It’s a better dog’n I thought. We can make 
him handy about the place.” 

And the close-fisted Wiggin actually ofiered Simon 
the money ! 

I’ll think about it ; I guess I won’t take it now,” 
replied the boy, wondering what had so changed 
the old man’s sentiments regarding the unwelcome 
whelp.” 

It must have been something in the newspaper. 

Whatever it was, Mr. Wiggin had cut it out ; and 
yet Simon felt a keen curiosity to search the columns 
from which the slip had been taken. 

He did not have a chance until evening, for the 
old man now told him that it was time for him to go 
to work. 


SIMON CANFORD AND HIS DOG CARLO. 75 


Mr. Wiggin was Tinusiially cheerful that afternoon. 
He had no longer a word to say of the boy^s folly 
in buying and bringing home a “ worthless pup ; ” 
and at night Carlo was once more generously fed. 

After supper, Simon took up the paper. It was a 
copy of the Sun. Among the columns of adver- 
tisements was one headed “ Lost.” It was from this 
that the clipping had been made. 

Simon noted the date of the paper, the page, the 
column, and the position in the column of the cut. 

It’s an advertisement for Carlo ! ” he said to him- 
self, probably offering a reward, or the old man 
wouldn’t act so.” 

Troubled and anxious, he glanced over the paper 
here and there, appearing to read ; then flung it 
down, got up, and went out to look at Carlo in the 
shed. 

In a little while he came back and stood in the 
door. 

“ Did you tie him ? ” he asked. 

“ Tie who ? Oh, the dog ? ” said Mr. Wiggin. 

Hem ! yes ; I thought he’d better be tied.” 

“ But you said there was no need of tying him ; 
you hoped he would run away,” Simon reminded 
him. 

His heart swelled, and his voice trembled as he 
spoke, for he knew there was some sinister design 
against him and Carlo. 

That was at first. But I’ve made up my mind 
to give him a trial. And — hem I ” — the old man 


76 


YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS. 


cleared his throat again, and crossed his legs in a 
new position, — I’m going to town myself with the 
poultry in the morning. I shall drive, and I thought 
I’d take the dog along, to see if he can be larnt to 
guard a wagon.” 

Simon had always been afraid of the old man. 
But now, pale and trembling though he was, he spoke 
up boldly. 

I’m not willing to let Carlo go, unless I go with 
him.” 

Not willing ? ” 

And the old man stared at him in grim astonish- 
ment. 

No, sir I ” said Simon, firmly. 

And why not, young man ? 

“ Because if I do, I shall never see him again.” 

Why, can’t you trust him with me? Won’t I 
take good care of him ? ” 

“ Not such care as I want to have taken of him,” 
Simon answered, without flinching before the harsh 
voice and cold gray eyes. “ You don’t like him. 
You’ve hated him till to-day. But you’ve found 
something in the paper about him, and now you want 
to take him from me.” 

“ Suppose I want to get him for the owner j you’ll 
give him up to the owner, won’t you ? ” said the old 
man. 

“ Then that is what you mean to do I ” Simon ex- 
claimed, passionately. 


SIMON CANFORD AND HIS DOG CARLO. 77 


The old man seemed to be aware that further con- 
cealment was useless. He spoke out plainly. 

‘‘ Yes ; and you may as well know it. The owner 
has advertised for him, and I’m going to take him 
back.” 

There’s a reward offered for him, I suppose,” 
said Simon, swallowing back a great lump that rose 
in his throat. 

Well, yes, a small one,” said the old man, “ You 
shall have your share on’t. But I think I’m entitled 
to my share, too, since I’ve harbored and fed the 
dog.” 

“ You’ve harbored and fed him I ” said the boy, 
indignantly. You’d have kicked him away from 
the door, if it hadn’t been for me I You — ” 

But he checked himself. It was no use for him 
to have words with the hard and obstinate old man, 
and he knew it. 

Go to bed ! ” said Mr. Wiggin, sternly. 

The boy’s anger and grief burst forth in a gush 
of tears. He obeyed, and went up-stairs to bed, 
but not to sleep. 

Yor a long time he lay in a fever of excitement, 
thinking over his talk with the old man, and trying 
to see a way out of his trouble. 

Have you ever loved a dog that somebody threat- 
ened to take away from you ? Then, if that dog was 
a new-found object of affection, and the only thing 
you had in the world to love, you may know some- 
thing how the boy felt about Carlo. 


78 


YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS. 


Simon Canford was an orphan. He had neither 
brothers nor sisters, nor any near relatives who cared 
for him. Since he was ten years old he had had to 
work for his living, and for the past three years he 
had been with Mr. Wiggin. 

He was not bound by any papers, and he had no 
guardian ; but by his faithfulness and industry he 
kept his place, and now earned his twelve dollars a 
year, besides his board and clothes. He had also 
three months^ schooling in the winter, or perhaps I 
should say, three months divided between easy 
studies in school and hard work at home. 

Simon thought over all this as he lay in his bed 
under the low garret roof. Bitter feelings rose up 
in his heart against the poultry-raiser. 

“ He has always been as mean to me as he could 
be,” he said to himself. “ When I found that horse- 
shoe he claimed it, because he said I was his hired 
boy, my time belonged to him, and it took some of 
my time to pick up a horseshoe. He was to clothe 
me, — and what clothes I have to wear ! I’m ashamed 
when I go to meeting or to school. He promised me 
a new suit in the spring, but I didn’t get it. If it 
hadn’t been for the pleasant trips across the river to 
market. I'd have left him long ago.” 

Simon was thankful now that he had not left him, 
for if he had, he might never have seen Carlo. 

And now he means to take even him away from 
me I He shan’t I Carlo is my dog ; I bought him. 
I don’t want any reward, and old Wiggin shan’t have 


SIMON CANFORD AND HIS DOG CARLO. 79 


any. The idea of his claiming a reward for my dog, 
that 1 found and brought home ! 

He fully made up his mind what to do, and then 
went to sleep. 

The old man rose early the next morning, as was 
his custom, and went to the stairway to call Simon. 

Come, boy ! ’’ he cried ; and thump ! thump ! 
thump ! went his fist on the wall. Time to be 
stirring ; I want to get an airly start ! 

He went to the barn, threw open the doors, and 
backed out the wagon. Then, having fed the horse, 
and done a few other chores, he returned to the 
house to see how breakfast was getting on. 

“Where’s that lazy-bones?” he said, Simon not 
having yet made his appearance. “ Simon ! ’’ he 
called again, at the foot of the stairs. 

No answer. The old man pounded on the wall. 

“ Do you want me to come up there and pull you 
out of bed?” 

The boy made no sign that he desired any such 
assistance. He made, in fact, no sign whatever. 

“ I hainT seen nor heard a word from him this 
morning,” Mrs. Wiggin remarked ; “ but I think he 
must be out somewhere; I noticed that the dog 
was untied.” 

“ Dog untied ! ” 

And the old man stalked to the shed. True enough, 
Carlo was missing. 

Back through the house tramped the old man, his 


80 YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS. 

heavy shoes clattering on the floor, and up the stairs 
to Simon’s room. There was no Simon there. 

Long before even Mr. Wiggin was awake that 
morning, the boy had gone softly down with a small 
bundle under his arm, helped himself to whatever he 
could find in the pantry, released Carlo, and gone off 
in the fresh and breezy morning, to find a home and 
seek his fortune elsewhere. 

Didn’t you unbolt the shed-door ? ” the old man 
demanded of his wife, as he came clattering down 
the stairs again. 

No ; I supposed you did. I found it unfastened,” 
said Mrs. Wiggin. 

The rogue must have unfastened it then when he 
went out that way,” said the old man. He’s gone. 
His old clothes are there, but he has worn off his 
best, and taken his shirts and stockings. Plague on 
the dog ! I don’t care so much for the reward I’ve 
lost, but that boy’s sarvices was worth — wal, it’ll 
cost me six or eight dollars a month to fill his place, 
any way.” 

Simon meanwhile was walking fast, with a light 
heart, along the country roads. He had health and 
hope, ten dollars of his own well-earned money in his 
pocket, and Carlo at his side. Why shouldn’t he be 
happy ? 

It had been his chief thought, up to this time, to 
get safely away with his dog, to defeat the niggardly 
old man’s intentions, and keep Carlo himself. But 
as he trudged on, an unwelcome afterthought in- 


SIMON CANFORD AND HIS DOG CARLO. 81 

truded itself on his mind. Had he any right to the 
dog ? 

True, he had bought him of Jeff Holand ; but, now 
he reflected, it did not seem to him very probable 
that Jeff was his owner. In short, that so fine a 
spaniel, clean and well-fed, and wearing so nice a 
collar, should belong to a young scamp like Jeff, — 
was it not incredible ? 

And now,” Simon said to himself, somebody has 
advertised for him. That canT be Jeff. It must be 
his real owner, who thinks as much of him, maybe, 
as I do.” 

The more he thought of it, the more he was 
troubled. In vain he said to himself, as he did more 
than once, I don’t care I I’ve got him, and I’m going 
to keep him. He’s my dog now.” In a minute or 
two the terrible spectre of the wrong he was doing 
somebody would again start up before him. 

I’ll go away off somewhere, and hire out in a 
place where Carlo was never seen or heard of, and 
where I can keep him for mine, and earn more, too, 
than ever old Wiggin was willing to pay me.” 

This was his plan. But suddenly he stopped short 
in the road. wish I could see that advertise- 

ment,” he said. Maybe it isn’t for my Carlo, after 
all. I should feel better if I knew that.” 

He had lately passed a little wayside fancy-store, 
where he had seen some cheap magazines and news- 
papers in the window. Perhaps he could find there 
6 


82 YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS. 

a copy of the Su7i from which Mr. Wiggin made 
the clipping. 

He turned back, and entered the door of the little 
shop. He saw a copy of the Sun on the counter, 
but it was that morning's issue. 

Have you yesterday's Sun ? " he asked of a 
woman who stood waiting to serve him. 

He was relieved to hear her answer, “No," so 
fearful he was of finding what his conscience had 
driven him to seek. 

He turned away, but she called after him. 

“ I shouldn't wonder if I could get you a second- 
hand copy, if you want one." 

“ If you please," said Simon, feebly. 

“ Mary," cried the woman, to a small girl in the 
rear of the shop, “ run in to Mrs. Bowen's and ask 
her for her yesterday's Sun / I'll make it right with 
her, if she can spare it." 

The girl ran off, and returned in a few minutes 
with the paper. Simon took it with a trembling 
hand, paid one cent for it, and went out into the 
open air, where he could breathe freely while search- 
ing the columns for poor Carlo's fate. 

He remembered just the place from which Mr. 
Wiggin had cut the slip. He ran his eye down to 
it, and there he read : 

“ Strayed or Stolen. — On Tuesday, 6th inst., a 
^>od-sized spaniel of mixed breed, fine long hair, 
rather curly, light-brown back and sides, more yel- 
lowish on the legs, left fore-foot white, also white on 


SIMON CANFORD AND HIS DOG CARLO. 83 


end of the tail. Had on when lost a neat collar with 
name ‘ Carlo ^ engraved on it, also ^ License No. 1941.'’ 
A reward of five dollars will be paid to any person 
returning the said dog to Mrs. A. A. Watson, No. 96 
Vestry Street.^^ 

Simon drew a long breath, crumpled up the paper, 
and looked down despairingly at Carlo. 

The old man was right,’’ he said. “ And to think 
he was going to play me such a trick for the paltry 
reward of five dollars ! I wouldn’t give up Carlo for 
five hundred dollars ! ” 

Tears rushed to his eyes, which he winked away 
as he walked. 

It’s too bad I ” he said. “ Just as I had got a 
dog for the first time, and he is growing attached to 
me ! Why can’t I feel that he is mine ? What do I 
care for Mrs. A. A. Watson ? Why didn’t she keep 
her dog when she had him ? ” 

He was walking fast, but not in the same direction 
as at first. In spite of himself, in spite of his love 
for Carlo and his desperate desire to keep him, he 
was going back, — not to the home he had left for- 
ever, but towards the nearest ferry that would take 
him across the river to New York city. 

It was near noon of that day, when, tired and dis- 
heartened, followed by the dog, Simon walked along 
Vestry Street, looking at the numbers, and finally 
stopped. 

I said followed by the dog ; but that is not the 
right word. The dog would have bounded on before 


84 


YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS. 


him, if he bad not been held by a cord which Simon 
had slipped over his neck before taking him into the 
city, and he now, with a glad bark and whine, leaped 
upon the steps of No. 96. 

No need for Simon to study the numbers so care- 
fully ; Carlo knew his old home. 

The joy he showed on seeing it again made Simon 
bitterly jealous. 

He doesn’t care for me any more now,” he mut- 
tered, as he went slowly up the steps. 

Just then the door opened, and, to his utter sur- 
prise and bewilderment, a well-known voice ex- 
claimed : 

Here he is now I ” 

For a moment it seemed to the boy that he was 
back at the poultry-farm once more. It was the 
harsh voice of old Wiggin that spoke, and there stood 
old Wiggin himself, looking grimly down upon him. 
Was it a dream? 

No dream at all, as Simon knew very well after he 
had had a moment to think about it. The old man had 
come to bring his report concerning the dog, and 
perhaps secure his “ share of the reward ” in case 
Carlo should be recovered. 

Behind Mr. Wiggin appeared a little stooping old 
lady, who thrust a little head in a little white cap 
out at the door. 

Carlo ! why, precious, darling Carlo ! ” she ex- 
claimed. 

And in an instant the dog was in her arms, licking 


SIMON CANFORD AND HIS DOG CARLO. 85 


her hands and face, and wagging his tail, — or per* 
haps I should say, wagging himself all over, — while 
she caressed him in the fondest manner. 

Meanwhile Mr. Wiggin looked sternly at Simon. 

“ So this is what you run away from home for,’^ he 
said, “ to bring the dog and get the reward unbe- 
known to me ? ” 

No, sir,^’ said Simon. I haven^t run away from 
home in the first place ; IVe left your service, as I 
had a right to do, — that’s all. I would have given 
vou warning if I could, but you forced me to do as 

i did.” 

Simon was no longer afraid of the old man. He 
went on speaking in a voice which trembled with 
some nobler emotion than that of fear. 

And I didn’t start to bring the dog, either. I 
didn’t make up my mind to bring him till two or 
three hours ago.” 

What was ye going to do with him?” 

Keep him ! ” Simon stoutly declared. I wanted 
him ; I didn’t want any reward.” 

^^Then I trust there won’t be no trouble about 
that,” said the old man. I’m willing you should 
have half, but I rightfully claim the other half.” 

Take it all if you want it I ” cried Simon witli 
quivering lips, and eyes filling with tears. 

He turned to go ; but the little stooping old lady 
ran out on the steps, beckoning and calling. 

Boy I young man ! come back 1 I want to speak 
to you I ” 


86 YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS. 

Simon was scarcely able to control the passion of 
grief which swelled in his heart as he obeyed. 

I must pay you something/^ she said. I must 
thank you, at any rate. Come in. Don^t you want 
to bid Carlo good-bye ? This man says you were fond 
of him.” 

Simon, standing in the entry, stifled a sob and 
said : 

“ No, I can’t bid him good-bye. He doesn’t care 
for me now he has got home.” 

And do you really care so much for him ? ” said 
the little old lady, rightly understanding his emotion. 

I thought everything of him I ” Simon replied. 

You see, 1 thought he was mine. I bought him of 
some boys who were tormenting him. There was 
one by the name of Jeff Holand. He said he owned 
him, and took my half-dollar.” 

Oh, that Jeff Holand ! ” said the old lady, indig- 
nantly. ^‘He’s a boy I took to bring up, and did 
everything I could for, and how he repaid me I To 
think that at last he should actually sell my Carlo ! 
That was his last act of ingratitude. Thank Heaven, 
I’ve sent him away, and he can play no more of his 
pranks with me ! ” 

She then made Simon tell the whole story of his 
rescue of Carlo, his care of him, and his final deter- 
mination to restore him to his mistress. 

He spoke in a manly, honest way, and in tones 
which betrayed his strong afiection for the dog. 


SIMON CANFOKD AND HIS DOG CARLO. 87 


The woman listened with deep interest, and at last 
turned to the old man. 

Is he a truthful boy ? ’’ she asked. 

Oh, yes, I must say that for him,’^ the old man 
replied ; though what he says of my not wanting to 
keep the dog, — that’s stretched a good deal.” 

But he’s an honest, good-hearted boy ? ” she con- 
tinued. 

Well, yes, I can’t deny that,” the old man again 
admitted ; though his going off this morning the 
way he did, — I don’t consider that to his credit.” 

“ Yet you forgive him, and are willing to take him 
back ? ” 

Oh, sartin, sartin ! ” said the old man. He’s a 
good faithful boy. I want him to come back.” 

The old lady gave Simon a pleasant smile. 

And what do you say?” she asked. 

I’ll never go back there in the world,” replied 
Simon, — “ never I ” And he spoke as if he meant it. 

Would you no back if I would let him have the 
dog?” 

Oh,” said Simon, opening his eyes in astonish- 
ment, I don’t know I I’d do almost anything, — I’d 
go almost anywhere to have Carlo again ! ” 

“Well,” said the old lady, “since you think so 
much of Carlo, and since this gentleman gives you 
so high a recommendation, I’ve a proposal to make. 
I want a good, honest, faithful boy to fill that Holand 
boy’s place. How would you like to come and live 
with me ? ” 


88 


YOUNG JOE AND OTHEK BOYS. 


Live — with — you ? Simon gasped out, more 
astonished than ever. 

“ With me and Carlo,” she added, and her pleasant 
smile became truly tender and motherly. “ He shall 
be your dog as well as mine. I am lonely, and I 
want a son. I like you, Simon, not merely because 
you were so kind to Carlo, and so true and honest as 
to bring him home to me when you loved him so, 
but I like your looks. You shall go to school, and 
then to college, or get into some kind of business, 
if you prefer that. What do you say ? ” 

Well, what could the poor, homeless, hungry- 
hearted boy say ? What would you have said in his 
place ? 

The old man was quite thunderstruck at so unex- 
pected a result of the interview. This, then, was 
what the shrewd little old lady was driving at with 
her questions all the while ! 

He was sorry to lose Simon, but the reward of 
five dollars, the whole of which he was permitted to 
carry away, partly consoled him. 

The boy’s astonishment changed quickly to joy, 
and his joy settled slowly down into a most happy 
thankfulness for his great good fortune. 

He not only had Carlo again, — he had a com- 
fortable home, and, best of all, he had a mother. 

Do you, who have had a mother all your life, ap- 
preciate and love her as Simon soon learned to ap- 
preciate and love good Mrs. Watson, I wonder? 


HOW EDGAR LEFT HOME. 


L oud screams in the wood-shed frightened every- 
body in the house ; and Mrs. Drew ran to see 
what was the matter. She opened the door, and 
there stood her son Edgar by the work-bench, look- 
ing proud and fierce, with his fist doubled up ; and 
there sat his little cousin Walter on the fioor, his 
eyes shut tight and his mouth wide open, screaming 
as loud as he could scream. 

Children I what is the matter ? cried good Mrs. 
Drew, hastening to see if Walter had had a finger 
cut off. or an eye put out, or a leg broken, for she 
was always afraid some such accident would happen 
to those boys. 

He — struck — me I screamed Walter. 

He shan^t have my playthings I ’’ said Edgar, 
shaking his head, and looking prouder and fiercer 
than ever ; and with his foot he began to push them 
under the work-bench. There was an express-wagon 
with four wheels, and a cart with two wheels, and a 
wheelbarrow with one wheel, a bow and arrow, a box 

89 


90 YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS. 

of blocks to make houses of, an india-rubber dog that 
would bark, and a cat that would mew, when you 
squeezed them, a jumping-jack, and I don’t know 
how many more things. Edgar had had most of the 
toys a good while, and had played with them till 
they no longer interested him, and they had long 
lain in his tool-chest at the end of the work-bench, 
neglected and forgotten, and of no use to anybody. 
When his little cousin Walter came to live with him, 
his mother said, There are those old playthings of 
Edgar’s; they are just what we want for Walter.” 

Walter was of course delighted with them. But 
Edgar, as soon as he found out that somebody else 
wanted his playthings, thought that he wanted them, 
and was unwilling to share them with Walter. If 
his cousin wished to take the express-wagon, Edgar 
said he was just going to take it, and Walter shouldn’t 
have it; then if Walter gave that up, and chose the 
cart, Edgar declared he must have the cart, — he 
was just going to draw chips in it. And so they 
quarrelled, in spite of all Mrs. Drew could say to 
make her son ashamed of his selfishness. 

But to-day she thought the time had come to put 
an end to these disputes about the playthings. So 
she stooped and put one hand kindly on the weeping 
Walter’s head, and took Edgar’s unwilling hand in 
the other. 

There, Walter, don’t cry; you shall have the 
playthings, for I said you might. Edgar, how can 
you treat your little cousin so ? Remember you are 


HOW EDGAR LEFT HOME. 


91 


a great boy, almost eleven years old, and he is only 
five.” 

I don't care ! I ain't going to have him coming 
into this house, and getting all my things away 
from me ! '' 

“ Have you forgotten what you told me when his 
poor mother died ? Said I, ^ Edgar, your little cousin 
hasn't any mother now, and he won't have any home, 
unless we let him come here ; how would you like 
to have him for your little brother ? ' You said you 
would love him, and be very good to him.'' 

Yes I '' muttered Edgar. ‘‘ I thought we'd play 
horse, and he'd let me drive ; but he wants to drive 
half the time ! The idea of his driving me! I ain't 
going to stand any of that nonsense, now, come I '' 

“ Look here, Edgar ; do you know you are talking 
to your mother?” said Mrs. Drew. 

I can't help that ! You always take his part 
against me. I've stood it long enough. I shan't 
stand it any longer.” 

Mrs. Drew looked at her boy in astonishment. 
After a moment's pause she said, calmly, “ What will 
you do about it ? ” 

I'll have Walter go away. If he stays in this ' 
house, 1 won't ! ” 

Very well. Walter is going to stay in this 
house, and have kind treatment from everybody in 
it. I have talked to you enough. Your father and 
I have done all we could to make a good, generous, 
happy boy of you ; and now if you wish to leave us, 


92 YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS. 

because you are too selfish to have your little cousin 
here, and too ungrateful to remember how you came 
by these very playthings, — why, you can go. And 
if you are resolved to be such a bad, rebellious boy, 
the sooner you go the better.’^ 

'<Well, ril go, then!’’ said Edgar, snatching his 
hand away, and walking, fierce and straight, up to 
his little bedroom, to pack his things. 

Mrs. Drew did not believe he would have the 
courage to go, or perhaps she would not have said 
what she did ; but having said it, she determined to 
wait and see what he would do. She went into the 
sitting-room, and sat down to her work (she was 
making Edgar a skating-cap), but left the door open, 
so that she could see him as he passed through the 
entry. She tried to appear calm, but she could not 
help feeling very anxious all the while he was in his 
room ; and when at last he came down- stairs with his 
best clothes on, and a little bundle under his arm, 
her heart gave a great throb of love and grief, 
and it was all she could do to keep from sobbing 
outright. 

Edgar, on his part, had not believed that his mother 
would finally let him leave the house, any more than 
she had believed that he would go ; and he thought 
it would be a great triumph to have her at the last 
moment entreat him to stay. So he made a great 
noise tramping through the entry, in order to attract 
her attention. As he looked in, and saw her at work 
on his skating-cap, his heart almost failed him ; but 


HOW EDGAR LEET HOME. 


93 


he was too proud to stop then, and as she did not 
speak, he stalked out of the door, thinking she would 
call him back before he got past the gate. 

Edgar ! she said, rapping on the window ; and 
glad he was to turn back, although he did so very 
sullenly. 

“ What ! ” said he, with a cross, impatient look. 

“You are not going away without bidding me 
good-bye, are you ? said his mother, cheerfully, for 
she had got the better of her emotions by this time. 

“ I didn’t know anybody wanted to say good-bye to 
me,” replied Edgar, gloomily, hugging his bundle. 

“ Why not? ” said his mother. “ If it is best for 
you to go, I am willing ; but let us part friends. 
And I must see what you have in your bundle.” 

“ Oh, I haven’t anything Walter will want ; don’t be 
afraid ! ” said the envious Edgar, bitterly. 

Mrs. Drew paid no attention to this remark, which 
was intended to be very stinging, but quietly undid 
the bundle. 

“ What I nothing but a shirt and a night-shirt, a 
pair of stockings and a handkerchief? Why, my 
child, it will never do to go away from home with 
so few things.” 

“ These are enough,” said Edgar, stifling his re- 
morse and grief. “ You’ll be glad to give the rest 
to Walter.” 

“ But you will have to go to work, if you leave 
home, and you will want some every-day clothes.” 

The boy had not thought of that ; and the prospect 


94 


YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS. 


of living out somewhere in the service of strangers 
was not very encouraging. 

I can’t carry a big bundle,” he said. 

Well, then we will send you what clothes you 
want, if you will write to us, after you have found a 
place,” said his mother, tying up the bundle again. 

I shall go to sea, and you will never hear from 
me again ! ” said Edgar, fiercely. He thought that 
would bring her to terms, but she appeared quite 
unmoved. 

Have you money enough for your journey ? ” 

“ I have three dollars and a half.” 

Where did you get so much ? ” 

“It — it — it’s some you gave me I ” Edgar fal- 
tered. Then, finding that he was beginning to soften, 
he added, vindictively “I can leave it for Walter, if 
you want me to ! ” 

“ No, my child ; you will want more than that ; 
and you know I have never taken anything from you 
that you needed, to give it to Walter. It is n’t be- 
cause I don’t love you, and wouldn’t do everything 
in the world for you, that I insist on your being kind 
to your little cousin. After you have been away 
from home a while, living among strangers, who will 
not be to you what 3"our father and mother and sis- 
ters have been, then you will wish you had been more 
kind to that poor little homeless, motherless boy.” 

Mrs. Drew wiped away a tear as she put back the 
boy’s purse. How he longed then to throw his arms 
about her neck, and ask her forgiveness, and promise 


HOW EDGAR LEFT HOME. 


95 


never to be unkind to Walter again ! But he was 
too proud for that, and he was angry because she 
seemed so willing to part with him. 

“ What shall I say to your father and sisters when 
they come home and ask for Edgar ? ” 

Anything you like ; I suppose you’ll make out 
as bad a story as you can about me I ” 

‘‘ Oh, Edgar I ” said his mother, reproachfully. Then, 
showing the skating-cap, “ What shall I do with 
this? I have spent so many happy hours over it, 
anticipating so much pleasure seeing you wear it 
this winter ; and there will be skating now in a few 
weeks.” 

“ I shan’t want it ; and I don’t suppose I could 
have it long if I did; you’d give it to Walter the 
first time he teased for it,” muttered Edgar, turning 
to go. 

He knew how cruelly unjust this taunt was, and 
he wanted her to reply to it But she only said, 
“Well, Walter shall have the cap. He will be the 
only boy we shall have to love and care for now. 
But, Edgar, it is going to rain. There is no need 
of your starting in bad weather. You can wait till 
morning, if you like.” 

“ No, I’d rather go now ! ” And away he strode, 
with a tragical air, so full of sorrow and anger and 
remorse, that he could not say another word, nor look 
back without bursting into tears. 

Little Walter, now just beginning to comprehend 
what the great trouble was, ran after him, and caught 


96 


YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS. 


him by the arm. Don’t go, Edgar ! ’’ he pleaded ; 

don’t go ! Come back, and I won’t ask for your 
playthings any more ! ” 

But Edgar shook him off rudely, and slammed the 
gate, and so bade good-bye to his comfortable, happy 
home, and went out into the great, lonely world. 

It was going to rain, sure enough. The sky was 
dark, and a few drops already began to sprinkle the 
dust of the road. One fell on Edgar’s hand and an- 
other on his cheek. The earth had never looked so 
dreary to him ; he had never felt such cold ominous 
raindrops before. “ She’ll be certain to call me 
again before I’m out of sight,” thought he ; and oh, 
how he hoped she v,^ould ! But she did not. 

She saw him go up the long. hill, carrying his little 
bundle, farther and farther, dimmer and dimmer, 
under the darkening clouds, — her darling boy ! 
Would she ever see that little coat, those trudging 
feet again ? Every moment she expected he would 
relent and turn back. “ The rain will certainly send 
him home ! ” thought she ; and so she watched and 
prayed till he was out of sight. 

The rain set in, slow and chill, not like a shower, 
but like a long, dismal storm. An hour passed, and 
no disheartened little boy with his bundle was seen 
coming down the hill. Then it grew so dark and 
rained so hard that his mother could not have seen 
him even if he had come. 

Edgar walked on very fast at first, without any 
idea where he was going, crying bitterly, and mut- 


HOW EDGAR LEFT HOME. 


97 


tering to himself, I won’t go back now I I don’t 
care if I do get wet ! I’ll drown myself, then I 
guess she’ll feel bad ! I’ll go to sea, — I will ! I’ll 
come home a rich man, and put up at the hotel, and 
not go to see her ; and I’ll drive a fast horse past the 
house, and make all my old friends presents, and — 
boo-hoo-hoo ! ” wept the wretched, angry boy, unable 
to support his heart with these spiteful fancies. 

Patter, patter went the rain, darker and darker 
grew the way ; and now the serious question forced 
itself upon his mind, where was he to pass the night ? 
Why not go to the hotel now ? Because everybody 
knew him in the village, and it would look so strange 
for him to go there for lodgings, so near home. 
‘‘I’ll go where nobody knows me ; I’ll crawl into a 
barn somewhere, and sleep on the hay.” 

Lights began to appear in the farm-houses he 
passed, their cheerful beams making the rain and 
darkness seem all the more dismal to his lonely heart. 
In one warmly lighted doorway a woman appeared 
and called, “ Come, my son, come to supper.” “ All 
right, mother,” answered a cheery boy’s voice from 
the door of a barn close by ; “ I’ve got the chores all 
done now.” And Edgar saw a lad about his own age 
go into the house with a brimming pail of milk, — 
go in to light and warmth and supper, and the com- 
fort of a mother’s presence, while he, houseless, 
motherless, hungry, drenched, wandered on in the 
darkness and rain. 

“ I’ll go into the next barn I come to,” thought he. 

7 


98 


YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS. 


And there was one near by ; but just as he was 
gliding stealthily to the door, a man came out, and 
seeing him, exclaimed gruffly, “ What do you want 
here ? Clear out, you little beggar ! 

Edgar was frightened, and ran away as fast as he 
could. He walked about half a mile farther, then sat 
down on a stone wall by the side of the road. Not a 
person was passing, not a light was to be seen any- 
where. Night had now fairly closed in, and it was 
raining still. And there Edgar thought of the past 
and of his dismal prospects. 

‘‘ I wish Walter had never come to our house ! 
Making a row ’twixt me and mother 1 I was happy 
as I could be before. I didn't use him very well, I 
know. I’d got through with the playthings, and he 
might have had ’em. I don’t blame him for wanting 
to drive me once in a while. And I don’t blame 
mother for taking his part. I toas mean and selfish. 
I wish I was back there. Father’s got home by this 
time, and Jane and Ellen. They’re eating supper 
now. I shan’t ever see any of mother’s good toast 
again I I wish I was dead I ” And Edgar, jumping 
from the wall, which tumbled down after him, walked 
on again blindly and miserably. 

In the mean while his father and sisters had come 
home, and his mother had anxiously told them what 
had happened. 

Don’t be frightened,” said Jane ; " he’ll be glad 
to come back again.” 

No, he won’t,” said Ellen, he’s so stuffy.” 


HOW EDGAR LEFT HOME. 


99 


“ I wish,” — Mrs. Drew, now greatly alarmed, ap. 
pealed to her husband, — I wish you would go 
after him, and see if you can find him, or hear from 
him. It don't seem to me that I can live through 
the night unless I can know that he is safe.” 

But Mr. Drew said, ‘‘ The rogue ! I’m of Janets 
opinion, — he’ll come home for supper and a dry bed. 
At all events, he will know enough to go in out of 
the rain.” 

The family sat down to supper ; but a sad supper 
it was. All were anxious about Edgar, and as the 
rain beat against the windows, they could not help 
wondering if he was out in it. 

After supper Mr. Drew said, I believe I will go 
out and see if I can track him.” So he lighted a 
lantern, and took an umbrella, and went off in pur- 
suit of the fugitive. 

In an hour he came back — without him. 

“ Couldn’t you find him ? ” cried out the despair- 
ing mother. 

What ! hasn’t he come home yet ? I #^’'^ected to 
find him here before me. It’s an awful night ! ” 

It was cow getting very late. Mrs. Drew did not 
dare to say what she felt ; she could not stay in the 
presence of the family ; but she went up the stairs 
to her boy’s little bedroom, and entering where all 
was dark, threw herself upon her knees by his bed, 
and began to pray, in a voice convulsed with anguish, 
for the welfare and safe return of her dear lost 
child. 




100 YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS. 

Mother ! ” sobbed out a well-known voice by hei 
side. 

Edgar, you here ! ” she cried. 

Yes, mother 1 ’’ said the penitent, under the bed* 
clothes. 

In her joy she threw her arms about him, and it 
was a minute before she could control her feelings 
sufficiently to ask, “ How came you here ? how did 
you get in ? 

I was ashamed to have you see me, and I climbed 
up the apple-tree on to the piazza, and got in at the 
window, about half an hour ago. And, 0 mother, I 
have been so unhappy — and I know IVe been a bad 
boy — I know I don’t deserve it, but if you will for- 
give me — 

Forgive him ! Why, the happy mother had never 
loved him so in all her life. She went and told his 
father and sisters, aud brought him up a plate of 
toast she had kept warm for him, aud stood by while 
he ate it, sitting up in bed. 

I tell you, mother,” said he, “ I’ve found out 
what home is, and you won’t catch me leaving it 
again in a hurry. I thought of it, sitting on that 
stone wall in the rain, and I didn’t go much farther 
after that, you’d better believe ; but I turned round 
in a little while, and came as straight back as ever 
I could. I crossed by Towner’s Lane, and that’s the 
way, I suppose, I missed father. Oh, what toast 1 
It’s the best toast, and IVe got the best father and 
mother, and the best home and sisters, there are in 


HOW EDGAR LEFT HOME. 


101 


this world ! And see here, mother,’’ — Edgar looked 
up earnestly in her face, — if 1 can’t afford to be a 
decent sort of boy in such a home as this, just send 
me off again, that’s all I ” 

Need I add that she nas never yet had occasion to 
send him off again ? 


THE 


ONE-EYED HOSTLER’S STORY- 


W HAT amused us most at the Lake House last 
summer was the performance of a bear in the 
back yard. 

He was fastened to a pole by a chain, which gave 
him a range of a dozen or fifteen feet. It was not 
very safe for visitors to come within that circle, 
unless they were prepared for rough handling. 

He had a way of suddenly catching you to his 
bosom, and picking your pockets of peanuts and 
candy — if you carried any about you — in a manner 
which took your breath away. He stood up to his 
work on his hind legs in a quite human fashion, and 
used paw and tongue with amazing skill and vivacity. 
He was friendly, and didn’t mean any harm, but he 
was a rude playfellow. 

I shall never forget the ludicrous adventure of a 
dandified New-Yorker, who came out into the yard to 
feed Bruin with seed-cakes, and did not feed him 
fast enough. 


102 



The One-eyed Hostler’s Story. — Page 103. 







THE ONE-EYED HOSTLER’S STORY. 


103 


He had approached a trifle too near, when all at 
once the bear whipped an arm about him, took him 
to his embrace, and “ went through ” his pockets in 
a hurry. The terrifled face of the struggling and 
screaming fop, and the good-natured, business-like 
expression of the fumbling and munching beast, 
offered the funniest sort of contrast. 

The one-eyed hostler, who was the bear’s especial 
guardian, lounged leisurely to the spot. 

Keep still, and he won’t hurt ye,” he said, turn- 
ing his quid. “ That’s one of his tricks. Throw out 
what you’ve got, and he’ll leave ye.” 

The dandy made haste to help Bruin to the last of 
the seed-cakes, and escaped without injury, but in a 
ridiculous plight, — his hat smashed, his necktie and 
linen rumpled, and his watch dangling ; but his fright 
was the most laughable part of all. 

The one-eyed hostler made a motion to the beast, 
who immediately climbed the pole, and looked at us 
from the cross-piece at the top. 

A bear,” said the one-eyed hostler, turning his 
quid again, is the best-hearted, knowin’est critter 
that goes on all-fours. I’m speakin’ of our native 
black bear, you understand. The brown bear ain’t 
half so respectable, and the grizzly is one of the ugli- 
est brutes in creation. Come down here. Pomp.” 

Pomp slipped down the pole and advanced towards 
the one-eyed hostler, walking on his hind legs and 
rattling his chain. 


104 


YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS. 


‘‘Playful as a kitten I said the one-eyed hostler, 
fondly. “ Pll show ye.’^ 

He took a wooden bar from a clothes-horse near 
by, and made a lunge with it at Pomp’s breast. 

No pugilist or fencing-master could have parried a 
blow more neatly. Then the one-eyed hostler began 
to thrust and strike with the bar as if in downright 
earnest. 

“ Rather savage play,” I remarked. And a friend 
by my side, who never misses a chance to make a 
pun, added : 

“ Yes, a decided act of bar-bear-ity.” 

“ Oh, he likes it 1 ” said the one-eyed hostler. “Ye 
can’t hit him.” 

And indeed it was so. No matter how or where 
the blow was aimed, a movement of Pomp’s paw, 
quick as a flash of lightning, knocked it aside, and 
he stood good-humoredly waiting for more. 

“ Once in a while,” said the one-eyed hostler, rest- 
ing from the exercise and leaning on the bar, while 
Pomp retired to his pole, “ there’s a bear of this 
species that’s vicious and blood-thirsty. Generally, 
you let them alone, and they’ll let you alone. They 
won’t run from you maybe, but they won’t go out 
of their way to pick a quarrel. They don’t swagger 
round with a chip on their shoulder lookin’ for some 
fool to knock it oflT.” 

“Will they eat you?” some one inquired; for 
there was a ring of spectators around the performers 
by this time. 


THE ONE-EYED HOSTLER’S STORY. 


105 


As likely as not, if they are sharp-set, and you 
Jay yourself out to be eaten ; but it ain’t their habit 
to go for human flesh. Roots, nuts, berries, bugs, 
and any small game they can pick up, satisfies their 
humble appetite, as a general thing. 

But they’re amazin’ fond of honey, and there’s no 
end of stingin’ they won’t stand for the fun of robbin’ 
a bee-nest. They’re omniwi^rous as a hog.” 

The spectators smiled, while some one remarked : 

“ You mean ommvorous.” 

The hostler winked his eye knowingly, and re- 
plied : 

“ I mean omni^ 70 ^ 4 rous,” with a still stronger accent 
on the wrong syllable. “ I found the word in a book, 
and it means eatin’ or devourin’ all sorts. That’s 
what a bear does. He likes everything, and a good 
deal of it. He can’t live on suckin’ his paws all 
winter, neither. That’s a foolish notion.” 

“ Do you mean to say a bear doesn’t hibernate ? ” 
I asked. 

“ He hibernates, — yes, I believe that’s what they 
call it,” replied the one-eyed hostler. ‘‘ He lies 
curled up kind o’ torpid sometimes in winter ; but 
what he really lives on then is his fat. 

Fat is fuel, so ter speak. He lays it up in the 
fall, and burns it out in the winter. He goes into his 
cold-weather quarters plump, and comes out lean ; 
but it’s only in very cold weather that he keeps so 
quiet. In mild, open winters he’s out foragin’ around, 
and when there comes a warm spell in the toughest 


106 YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS. 

winter, you may see him. He likes to walk out and 
see what’s goin’ on, anyhow.” 

The one-eyed hostler leaned against the pole, 
stroked Pomp’s fur affectionately, and continued 
somewhat in this style : 

Bears are partic’larly fond of fat, juicy pigs, and 
once give ’em a taste of human flesh, — why, I 
shouldn’t want my children to be playin’ in the 
woods within a good many miles of their deni 

Which reminds me of Old Two Claws, as they 
used to call him, a bear that plagued the folks over 
in Ridgetown, where 1 was brought up, — wal, as 
much as forty year ago. 

He got his name from the peculiar shape of his 
foot, and he got that from trifling with a gun-trap. 
You know what that is, — a loaded gun set in such a 
way that a bear or any game that’s curious about it, 
must come up to it the way it p’ints ; a bait is hung 
before the muzzle, and a string runs from that to the 
trigger. 

“ He was a cunning fellow, and he put out an in- 
vestigatin’ paw at the piece of pork before trying his 
jaws on it; so instead of gettin’ a bullet in the head, 
he merely had a bit of his paw shot away. There 
were but two claws left on that foot, as his bloody 
tracks showed. 

He got off ; but this experience seemed to have 
soured his disposition. He owed a spite to the 
settlement. 

One night a great row was heard in my uncle’s 


THE ONE-EYED HOSTLER’S STORY. 


107 


pig-pen. He and the boys rushed out with pitch- 
forks, a gun and a lantern. They knew what the 
trouble was, or soon found out. 

“ A huge black bear had broken down the side of 
the pen ; he had seized a fat porker, and was actually 
lugging him off in his arms ! The pig was kicking 
and squealing, but the bear had him fast. He did 
not seem at all inclined to give up his prey, even 
when attacked. He looked sullen and ugly ; but a 
few jabs from a pitchfork, and a shot in the shoulder, 
convinced him that he was making a mistake. 

He dropped the pig, and got away before my 
uncle could load up for another shot. The next 
morning they examined his tracks. It was Old Two 
Claws. 

But what spoilt him for being a quiet neighbor 
was something that happened about a year after that. 

There was a roving family of Indians encamped 
near the settlement, hunting, fishing, and making 
moccasins and baskets, which they traded with the 
whites. 

One afternoon, the Bed-Sky-of-the-Morning, wife 
of the Water-Snake-with-the-Long-Tail, came over to 
the settlement with some of their truck for sale. She 
had a pappoose on her back strapped on a board ; 
another squaw travelled with her, carrying an empty 

jug- 

Almost within sight of Gorman^s grocery, Bed- 
Sky took off her pappoose and hung it on a tree. 
The fellows around the store had made fun of it when 


108 


YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS. 


she was there once before, so she preferred to leave 
it in the woods rather than expose it to the coarse 
jokes of the boys. The little thing was used to such 
treatment. Whether carried or hung up, pappoosey 
never cried. 

The squaws traded off their truck, and bought, 
with other luxuries of civilization, a gallon of whis,- 
key. They drank out of the jug, and then looked at 
more goods. Then they drank again, and from being 
shy and silent, as at first, they giggled and chatted 
like a couple of silly white girls. They spent a good 
deal ihore time and money at Gorman’s than they 
would if it hadn’t been for the whiskey, but finally 
they started to go back through the woods. 

They went chattering and giggling to the tree 
where the pappoose had been left. Then suddenly 
their noise stopped. There was no pappoose there ! 

This discovery sobered them. They thought at 
first the fellows around the store had played them a 
trick by taking it away; but by-and-by the Red- 
Sky-of-the-Morning set up a shriek. 

She had found the board not far off, but no pap- 
poose strapped to it, only something that told the 
story of what had happened. 

There were bear-tracks around the spot. One 
of the prints showed only two claws. 

“ The Red-Sky-of-the-Morning went back to the 
camp with the news ; the other squaw followed with 
the jug. 

“ When the Water- Snake- with- the -Long-Tail heard 


THE ONE-EYED HOSTLEK’S STORY. 


109 


that his pappoose had been eaten by a bear, he felt, 
I suppose, very much as any white father would have 
felt under the circumstances. He vowed vengeance 
against Old Two Claws, but consoled himself with a 
drink of the fire-water before starting on the hunt. 

The braves with him followed his example. It 
wasn’t in Indian nature to start until they had 
emptied the jug, so it happened that Old Two Claws 
got olF again. Tipsy braves can’t follow a trail worth 
a cent. 

“ Not very long after that a woman in a neighbor- 
ing settlement heard her children scream one day in 
the woods near the house. She rushed out, and saw 
a bear actually lugging off her youngest. 

She was a sickly, feeble sort of a woman, but such 
a sight was enough to give her the strength and 
courage of a man. She ran and caught up an axe. 
Luckily she had a big dog. They two went at the 
bear. 

The old fellow had no notion of losing his dinner 
just for a woman and a mongrel cur. But she struck 
him a tremendous blow on the back ; at the same 
time the pup got him by the leg. He dropped the 
young one to defend himself. She caught it up and 
ran, leaving the two beasts to have it out together. 

The bear made short work with the cur ; but in- 
stead of following the woman and child, he skulked 
ofi* into the woods. 

The settlers got together for a grand hunt ; but 
Old Two Claws — for the tracks showed that he was 


110 


YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS. 


%tie scoundrel — escaped into the mountains, and 
Vived to make more trouble another day. 

“ The child ? Oh, the child was scarcely huri. ! it 
had got squeezed and scratched a little in the final 
tussle ; that was all. 

“As to the bear, he was next heard of in our 
settlement.’’ 

The hostler hesitated, winked his one eye with an 
odd expression, put a fresh quid into his cheek, and 
finally resumed : — 

“ A brother-in-law of my uncle, a man of the name 
of Rush, was one day chopping in the woods about 
half a mile from his house, when his wife went out to 
carry him his luncheon. 

“ She left two children at home, a boy about five 
years old, and a baby just big enough to toddle 
around. 

“ The boy had often been told that if he strayed 
into the woods with his brother, a bear might carry 
them off, and she charged him again that forenoon 
not to go away from the house ; but he was an enter- 
prising little fellow, and when the sun shone so pleas- 
ant, and the woods looked so inviting, he wasn’t one 
to be afraid of bears. 

“ The woman stopped to see her husband fall a big 
beech he was cutting, and then went back to the 
house ; but just before she got there, she saw the 
oldest boy coming out of the woods on the other side. 
He was alone. He was white as a sheet, and so 
frightened at first that he couldn’t speak. 


THE ONE-EYED HOSTLER’S STORY. 


Ill 


“ ^ J ohnnv/ says she, catching hold of him, ^ what 
is the matter ? ^ 

“ ^ A bear ! ^ he gasped out at last. 

^ Where is your little brother ? ' was her next 
question. 

‘ I don’t know,’ said he, too much frightened to 
know anything just then. 

^ Where did you leave him ? ’ says she. 

“ Then he seemed to have gotten his wits to- 
gether a little. ‘ A bear took him I ’ said he. 

You can guess what sort of an agony the mother 
was in. 

^ O Johnny, tell me true ! Think ! Where was it ? ’ 

^ In the woods,’ he said. ^ Bear come along — 
I run.’ 

She caught him up and hurried with him into 
the woods. She begged him to show her where he 
was with his little brother when the bear came along. 
He pointed out two or three places. In one of them 
the earth was soft. There were fresh tracks cross- 
ing it, — bear tracks. There was no doubt about it. 

It was a terrible situation for a poor woman. 
Whether to follow the bear and try to recover her 
child, or go at once for her husband, or alarm the 
neighbors, what to do with J ohnny meanwhile, — all 
that would have been hard enough for her to decide, 
even if she had had her wits about her. 

She hardly knew what she did, but just followed 
her instinct, and ran with Johnny in her arms, or 
dragging him after her, to where her husband was 
chopping. 


112 


YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS. 


Well/^ continued the one-eyed hostler, 1 
needn’t try to describe what followed. They went 
back to the house, and Rush took his rifle and started 
on the track of the bear, vowing that he would not 
come back without either the child or the bear’s 
hide. 

The news went like wildfire through the settle- 
ment. In an hour half a dozen men with their dogs 
were on the track with Rush. It was so much 
trouble for him to follow the trail that they soon 
overtook him with the help of the dogs. 

But in spite of them the bear got into the moun- 
tains. Two of the dogs came up with him, and one, 
the only one that could follow a scent, had his back 
broken by a stroke of his paw. After that it was 
almost impossible to track him, and one after another 
the hunters gave up and returned home. 

At last Rush was left alone ; but nothing could 
induce him to turn back. He shot some small game 
in the mountains, which he cooked for his supper, 
slept on the ground, and started on the trail again in 
the morning. 

“Along in the forenoon he came in sight of the 
bear as he was crossing a stream. He had a good 
shot at him as he was climbing the bank on the other 
side. 

“ The bear kept on, but it was easier tracking him 
after that by his blood. 

“ That evening a hunter, haggard, his clothes all 
in tatters, found his way to a backwoodsman’s hut 


THE ONE-EYED HOSTLER’S STORY. 


113 


over in Whitens Valley. It was Rush. He told his 
story in a few words as he rested on a stool. He had 
found no traces of his child, but he had killed the 
bear. It was Old Two Claw<s. He had left him on 
the hills, and come to the settlement for help. 

The hunt had taken him a roundabout course, 
and he was then not more than seven miles from 
home. The next day, gun in hand, with the bear- 
skin strapped to his back, — the carcass had been 
given to his friend the backwoodsman, — he started 
to return by an easier way through the woods. 

“ It was a sad revenge he had had, but there was 
a grim sort of satisfaction in lugging home the hide 
of the terrible Old Two Claws. 

As he came in sight of his log house, out ran his 
wife to meet him, with — what do you suppose ? — 
little Johnny dragging at her skirts, and the lost child 
in her arms ! 

Then, for the first time, the man dropped ; but 
he didn’t get down any further than his knees. He 
clung to his wife and baby, and thanked God for the 
miracle. 

“ But it wasn^t much of a miracle, after all. 

Little Johnny had been playing around the door, 
and lost sight of the baby, and maybe forgotten all 
about him, when he strayed into the woods and saw 
the bear. Then he remembered all that he had 
heard of the danger of being carried off and eaten, 
and of course he had a terrible fright. When asked 
about his little brother, he didn’t know anything 
8 


114 


YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS. 


about him, and I suppose really imagined that the 
bear had got him. 

But the baby had crawled into a snug place 
under the side of the rain-trough, and there he was 
fast asleep all the while. When he woke up two or 
three hours after, and the mother heard him cry, 
her husband was far away on the hunt. 

^^True — this story IVe told you?^^ added the 
one-eyed hostler, as some one questioned him. 

Every word of it.’’ 

But your name is Rush, isn’t it ? ” I said. 

The one eye twinkled humorously. 

** My name is Rush. My uncle’s brother-in-law 
was my own father.” 

And you ? ” exclaimed a bystander. 

I,” said the one-eyed hostler, am the very man 
who wasn’t eaten by the bear when he was a baby.” 


MY LOST POCKET-BOOK. 


M y name is Edney — Philip Clement Edney. 

That was my father’s name before me. Twen- 
ty odd years ago he did a small but comfortable dry- 
goods business in Utica. But in the panic of ’57 
he met with severe losses ; and he had hardly 
weathered the financial storm when he was taken 
down with a disease from which he never recovered. 

In his last illness he was deeply concerned for the 
future of his family. I was the eldest son, and he 
frequently expressed the hope to my mother and to 
me that in some way we should be able to find Har- 
ringford. 

Thomas Harringford was a generous-hearted but 
rather unprincipled young man who had been in my 
father’s employ several years before. 

He had got into bad company, and was guilty of 
some irregularity, as the modern genteel phrase is, 
having helped himself to my father’s cash to the 
amount of several hundred dollars, before his dis- 

116 


116 


YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS. 


honesty — I mean his irregularity — was discovered. 
He was penitent, and confessed everything, but it 
was impossible for him to make restitution. 

He had been a favorite of both my father and 
mother, and they could not bear to have him sent to 
prison. So, on his promising to reform, lead an 
honest life in future, and repay my father when he 
was able the sums he had stolen, — I mean misap- 
propriated j — he was let off. 

He went to parts where he was unknown, and 
only vague rumors concerning him had reached us 
since. One of these rumors was that he had been 
seen in Buffalo and Detroit, and that he was doing a 
prosperous business. 

On settling up my father’s estate, my mother found 
that she and her little family were left in straitened 
circumstances. Then we remembered what he had 
said about Harringford. I wrote to him letters 
directed to Buffalo and Detroit, but failed to receive 
answers. At last we were so much in need that I 
said: 

Mother, if you can spare the money for me to 
make the journey, I believe I can find him, and get 
at least a part-payment of w^hat he owes us.” 

It was a long time before she would listen to this 
proposal. She could ill afford the expense. Though 
we held Harringford’s note to my father, it was out- 
lawed, and she had not much faith in my being able 
to get any money of him, even if he could be found 
in one of the two cities named. 


MY LOST POCKET-BOOK. 


117 


At last, however, thinking the journey might do 
me some good at any rate, she consented to it, and 
in J uly I set out. 

I went first to Buffalo, where I began with the 
post-office and directory, but without being able 
to find the man I was searching for. I proceeded 
to Detroit. No luck there either. I returned to 
Buffalo, stopping at Cleveland by the way, and final- 
ly gave up the search, concluding that Harringford 
must have gone elsewhere, and that the world was 
too large a haystack for me to hunt in for such a 
needle. 

But my mother had told me to be sure to visit 
Niagara before my return ; so one afternoon I went 
down by a late train to the Falls, which I saw by 
moonlight for the first time. 

I was of course too poor to go to a first-class 
hotel, but put up at one both small and obscure. 
The next morning was fine. I was in good spirits, 
in spite of the failure of my undertaking, for I had 
youth and health. I passed the day at the Falls, 
but, for economy's sake, I felt that I ought to leave 
on the night train for Utica. So I prepared to take 
leave of the great cataract. 

But I am going to drink out of it first, any way,^* 
I said to a young man whose acquaintance I had 
made that afternoon. 

The American shore of the river was not fenced 
in from the public in those days, as I found it when 
I was there a year ago. We stood at the very brink, 


118 


YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS. 


near the edge of the fall. The wild, tumbling rapids 
shot past us, seemed to pause an instant on the verge, 
broke into curves of marvellous green water, then 
crumbled into masses of foam, and fell thundering 
into the abyss. 

With that view before me, boy-like, I got down 
on my hands and knees for my drink. My lips 
touched the swift water. I had my drink, and was 
about to rise, when something dropped out of the 
inner breast-pocket of my coat, and shot away from 
my reach and sank from sight before I could put out 
my hand. In my astonishment, I was near making a 
leap after it, but the sight of the steaming gulf be- 
low brought me to my senses. 

Gone ! ’’ I exclaimed, flinging up my hands in 
despair. Did you see it ? ” 

“ See what ? ” said my companion. 

“ My pocket-book ! I replied, full of consternation. 

It dropped from my coat-pocket into the water. 
I came within one of going after it I 

He had seen nothing. I explained how it hap- 
pened. I had always carried my pocket-book in that 
way, and never dropped it before. But in stooping 
far forward to bring my lips to the water, I had 
emptied my pocket, and lost in an instant all my 
money, together with that poor outlawed note of 
Harringfbrd's among other more or less valuable 
papers. 

My chance acquaintance expressed his sympathy 
in well-sounding words, but all at once he appeared 


MY LOST POCKET-BOOK. 


119 


to have grown cold towards me. Perhaps he ex- 
pected I should want to borrow money of him, for 
money I should certainly need in getting away from 
the Falls. I still had my hotel bill to pay, and I 
could not very well travel by rail for nothing. 

We had already exchanged cards, and I had ascer- 
tained that his name was Eastmore, — that he was a 
reporter, or something of the sort, for a Buffalo pa- 
per. I thought a young man of his experience 
ought to be able to give me good advice, if nothing 
else, and I begged him to tell me what to do. 

Have you any friend in town that you can call 
on for assistance ? ’’ he asked. 

“ Not one,'’ I said ; and added, without thinking 
how he would take it, “ You are the only acquaint- 
ance I have here except the hotel folks." 

He laughed and looked embarrassed. 

“ That’s bad ! ’’ he said. “ I would be glad to lend 
you a little money, if I bad any to spare, but I 
haven’t. Perhaps the hotel folks will help you, if 
you can convince them of the truth of your story.’’ 

A horrible suspicion flashed across my mind. I 
might pass for an impostor ! 

“ The truth of it ! ’’ I exclaimed. Why, I had 
my pocket-book right here, with twenty dollars in 
it ! And what motive could I have — ’’ In my be- 
wilderment I could not finish my question. 

Of course you had your pocket-book,’’ he an- 
swered with a smile ; “ and mind, I don’t say you 
have any motive for making a false pretension. But 


120 


YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS. 


the world is full of impostors, who are always in- 
venting excuses for borrowing money or for omitting 
to pay their bills. Hotel -keepers have to deal with 
such characters pretty often, and we can’t blame 
them for being a trifle suspicious of men who have 
lost their pocket-books.” 

He must have been impressed by the horrifled 
look I gave him, for he immediately went on: 

Of course, I am as much convinced that you lost 
your pocket-book in the way you say, as if I had 
seen it go over the falls. But even if I had seen it, 
I never saw the money in it, — though don’t under- 
stand me to say that I have any doubt of that either. 
I am only stating the case as it might look to other 
people, if you didn’t carry such an honest face about 
with you.” 

Thank you for so much I ” I said, bitterly ; for 
now I perceived by something in his look and tone, 
which he could not hide, that in his own mind my 
story stood sadly in need of confirmation. 

I couldn’t blame him, however. Impostors are 
in the majority smooth-tongued people in want of 
assistance ; and the worst of their sin is that they 
throw discredit upon honest people who have been 
really unfortunate. I was destined to find that out 
to my sorrow. 

I felt that the first thing to be done was to make 
my case known to my landlord, and I went back to 
the house. I told him, in as cool and business-like 


MY LOST POCKET-BOOK. 121 

a way as I could, what had happened, and asked him 
to trust me for the amount of my bill. 

Eastmore went with me, and I hoped he would 
say something to corroborate my story ; but he was 
very cautious. He stood at my elbow, a little be- 
hind, and I suspect there was something in his face 
which did not help my cause. 

The landlord, a short, stocky, red-visaged, wall- 
eyed Irishman, glanced over his shoulder with the 
one good eye he had, and seemed to receive intelli- 
gence to my disadvantage. 

1 turned quickly. I don’t think Eastmore had 
made a signal, but he had not concealed his incre- 
dulity. I found then that I might better have gone 
alone to the landlord. 

“ I don’t know anything about your losing your 
pocket-book,” said the Irishman, after hearing me 
out. If you have no money, you must get some. 
My business is to keep a hotel, and I can’t furnish 
guests with board and lodging for the fine stories 
they may tell.” 

The words stung me, but I managed to reply 
calmly : 

I don’t ask you to do any such thing. I shall 
pay you every cent I owe you. But I have lost my 
money, and can’t very well afford to stay here until 
I receive more.” 

Then it occurred to me that that was just what he 
would like to have me do. He could hold my valise 


122 


YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS. 


for security, and my bill would be increasing, wO I 
added : 

I shall be obliged to leave your house, any way. 
If you will let me take my valise, I think I may get 
passed over the railroad ; and I promise to send you 
the two dollars I owe you as soon as I reach Utica. 

He smiled. 

“ What time is it ? he asked. I took out my 
watch and told him. That’s a good-looking tur- 
nip,’’ he said. “ Leave that, and you may take your 
baggage.” 

The watch had been my father’s. I wouldn’t have 
trusted it in his hands on any account. 

No, thank you ! ” I said, and put it back into my 
pocket. 

He saw that I distrusted him, and became abusive. 

You’re a swindler ! ” he cried. I’ve heard of 
you before. How many pocket-books have you lost 
this week ? I’ve a cat here that could eat them all, 
and lick her chaps for more. Ah ! ” — he shook his 
fist at me angrily, — “ I’m the wrong man for you to 
try your little confidence game on. If you come into 
my house again without the money,” he shouted 
after me as I was turning my back on him indig- 
nantly, I’ll have you arrested ! I’ll have you in the 
lock-up ! ” 

I think I never was so angry in my life ; but what 
is the use of arguing with a wild beast ? I held my 
tongue, and walked out of his miserable hotel with- 
out my baggage. I had been poorly accommodated 


MY LOST POCKET-BOOK. 


123 


there, and his charge, after all, was exorbitant, — 
almost as much as I should have had to pay in those 
days at a first-class house. 

I should have found no fault with that, and would 
gladly have sent him the money if he would have 
let me off ; but to feel that I had been imposed upon 
as well as insulted increased my indignation. 

Eastmore followed me out, and spoke some words 
intended to appear sympathizing ; but I had no pa- 
tience with the cold, suspicious, non-committal char- 
acter of the fellow, and gave him but a curt reply. 
So he went his way, and I mine. 

I had already resolved what to do. I walked 
boldly into a first-class hotel, entered my name on 
the register, and then asked the clerk to be good 
enough to put my watch in the hotel safe. It was 
an unusual act. I knew the clerk would wonder 
why I requested it ; but I made no explanation. I 
then took a room and wrote a letter to my mother, 
which I thought would reach her the next morning, 
and serve my purpose as well as a telegram. I got 
my letter into the mail and took mine ease in mine 
inn.'^ I determined to enjoy my stay at the Falls, 
while waiting for money to get away. 

The next day, while walking out of the hotel, I 
met Eastmore walking in. He gave me a curious 
smile and went to the desk, where he seemed to be 
looking over the register for names. 

I didn’t have anything more to say to him, but 
sauntered away, with my head up. 1 looked eagerly, 


124 


YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS. 


the next morning, for the expected letter from home. 
It did not come. But I got an interesting bit of 
news instead. 

I took up at the breakfast-table a newspaper which 
a gentleman had laid down, and read with feelings 
which you can perhaps imagine, this item, under the 
heading of — 

“SPRAY FROM THE FALLS. 

“ Don’t drink out of the Cataract! That is what Philip Clem- 
ent Edney attempted to do on Tuesday, in the presence of our 
reporter, and thus parted with a large and well-stuflfed pocket- 
book, which took that occasion to leap out of his breast-pocket 
and dart over the American Fall like a fish. Philip Clement Ed- 
ney was hugely disgusted ; so likewise was the landlord of the 
Eagle House, when he found that the said P. C. E. Ij^d nothing 
but fair promises wherewith to settle his bill. Unfortunately our 
reporter could not swear to the wallet and its contents; and in 
this age of dead-beats and confidence-men, P. C. E. naturally fell 
under some suspicion. 

“If an impostor, — which our reporter did not believe, — he is 
a very young and a very good-looking specimen. If an honest 
person, — as he appears, — we can only say that it was an expen- 
sive drink, and refer the prudent reader to the moral of our story, 
which, to insure its being read, we have placed at the beginning, 
and here repeat at the end, — Don’t drink out of the Cataract ! ” 

Hot and cold streaks shot over me as I read this 
smart paragraph. I burned to get hold of East- 
more’s sagacious nose, and be rude to it. My name 
— the name which the reporter had given in full — 
was on the hotel register, and already, no doubt, I 
was an object of suspicion by the clerk. I arose 
hastily and left the dining-hall. 

I went to cool my heat under the cliff below the 


MY LOST POCKET-BOOK. 


125 


Falls, and did not return to the hotel until noon. 
Again I asked the clerk for letters. There were 
none for me ; but there was something else — a 
card. 

“ H. F. Marston was the name I read on it ; and 
I was informed that Mr. Marston had inquired for 
me. 

“ I don’t know him,” I said. “ Who is he ? ” 

By way of reply the clerk struck a bell, called a 
messenger, and sent him off to see if Mr. Marston 
was in his room, and to tell him that “ Mr. Edney ” 
had returned. Then he said to me: 

You are the young man who left a watch with 
me, I believe. Do you wish for it ? ” 

“ I shall wish for it,” I said, when I have money 
to pay my bill, which I am expecting by every 
mail.” 

Then it wasn’t simply for safe-keeping that you 
handed it to me ? ” he said. 

“ Not altogether,” I replied. I had no baggage ; 
and to avoid unpleasant explanations, and perhaps 
still more unpleasant suspicions, I thought I would 
place that security in your hands.” 

He smiled as he took the watch from the safe and 
handed it back to me. 

I don’t require the security. I believe you are 
honest, Mr. Edney. The paragraph in this morn- 
ing’s paper has excited interest, and one or two 
persons have asked about you. Mr. Marston wished 
particularly to see you. Walk up stairs.” 


126 


YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS. 


The messenger had in fact just returned for me, 
and I went with him, wondering all the way what 
would happen next. 

I found a tall, well-dressed, fine-looking gentleman 
waiting for me in his private parlor. 

“ Is this Philip Clement Edney ? he said, with a 
smile, which brought up a host of recollections. 

I stared at him, all a-tremble with excitement. I 
might have passed him twenty times in the hotel 
without knowing him ; but now I was sure of my 
man at a glance. 

That is my name,^' I said ; and you — ? 

He stopped me with another engaging smile. 

I am Henry F. Marston, please remember. If I 
had another name once, I should be glad to have it 
forgotten. But I am willing that you should know 
who I am. When I saw your name in the paper 
this morning, I knew it must be you. Then I found 
you were stopping at the same hotel with me. Your 
father was very, very kind to me, Philip : and when 
1 learned — ” 

The tears actually came into his eyes, as he fal- 
tered ; and at that moment I forgave him all. 

You were a little shaver when I knew you,^^ he 
went on, with another flashing smile. I should not 
have recognized you ; but you have your father's 
name, and your mother’s eyes. I don’t know why I 
have neglected to communicate with them. When 
I found that you were here, my heart yearned 
towards you. How are your parents, Philip ? 


MY LOST POCKET-BOOK. 


127 


He had not heard of my father’s death. When I 
told him, and described the straitened circumstances 
of our family, he appeared greatly astonished and 
conscience-stricken. 

Why haven’t you sent for me ? ” he asked. 

My father, in his last moments, begged us to let 
you know our circumstances, and I have gone through 
three cities in search of you,” I replied. But no 
Thomas Harringford — ” 

He stopped me again. “ Of course not,” he said. 
“ There is no such man now, and never has been, 
since I left Utica and began a new life under a new 
name. I have been much to blame that I have never 
repaid your father. Do you know the amount of the 
debt?” 

The face of the note was seven hundred and 
forty dollars,” 1 answered. “ But that, I am sorry 
to say, went over the Falls in my pocket-book. 
But I have a letter to you from my mother, which 
I have left in my valise at the Eagle House.” 

Go and get it,” he said. 

I can’t,” 1 replied, ‘‘ for I have no money to pay 
my bill there.” 

He at once opened his pocket-book. “ Tv.kc that 
and get your valise.” 

He put a twenty -dollar bank-note into my hand. 

In half an hour I had redeemed my baggage, told 
the landlord of the Eagle House in plain language 
what I thought of his conduct, and returned to Har- 
ringford’s room — or rather Marston’s — with my 
mother’s letter. 


128 


YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS. 


In reading it he had to hide his face. Tears were 
still in his eyes, though he was smiling again. Then 
he turned to me. 

That was a lucky paragraph in this morning’s 
paper,” he said ; “ and a lucky accident which de- 
tained you here. In your absence I have computed 
the present value of that note at compound interest ; 
and now it gives me the greatest satisfaction to repay 
your family in a time of need. I have deducted the 
twenty dollars I just handed you ; and here is the 
balance.” 

He put a paper into my hands. I couldn’t believe 
my eyes. It was a check for twenty-three hundred 
and ninety dollars. 

I did not wait for my mother’s letter, but took the 
next train for home. 

I found my letter there waiting for her. She was 
away, and it had not been forwarded. She soon re- 
turned, and I had the joy of putting Harringford’s 
check into her hands. We felt some anxiety lest it 
shouldn’t prove good for the large sum of money 
it called for ; but it did ; and it proved also to be the 
turning-point in our fortunes. 

In my delight at the happy termination of my ad- 
venture, I forgave everybody who had wronged me. 
I forgave the wall-eyed landlord. I even forgave 
Eastmore. 

I have visited Niagara Falls more than once 
since ; but I never again felt any desire to drink 
out of the cataract. 


ANDY’S ADVENTURES; 


OR. 


THE WORLD BEWITCHED. 


NDY’S folks had gone to town, and left him at 



X\. home to take care of the house, watch the 
garden, and amuse himself 

Andy had a new bow and arrow, and he thought 
it would be great sport to have nothing to do all 
the afternoon but to shoot at the robins and wood- 
peckers. 

So, as soon as the wagon was out of sight, and the 
gate shut, he ran into the orchard, and began the 
fun. He kept near enough to the house to see if 
anybody came to the door, and near enough to the 
garden to see if the pigs got into it ; and whenever 
he saw a bird, he sent an arrow after it. But the 
robins soon found out what he wanted, and flew away 
when they saw him coming. Their beautiful red 
breasts would have been capital marks, if they had 
only waited for him to get a good shot. The wrens 
were not afraid, but they were so small he could not 
hit them. And the swallows kept flying about so, 


9 


129 


130 


YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS. 


twittering and darting here and there, that he knew 
he would have to practise a long time before he 
could take them on the wing. The yellow-birds and 
blue-birds were so shy that he could hardly see one 
in sight of the house. So there was no game left 
but the woodpeckers. 

But woodpeckers are cunning fellows. The^ 
run up the trees, and stick in their bills, and hop 
about, and fly from one tree to another so fast, that 
it takes a pretty smart boy to hit one. They were 
tame enough, and would sometimes let Andy come 
quite near ; they would stop pecking a moment, and 
hold up their red heads to take a good look at him ; 
then they would begin to drum again in the merriest 
way, making little holes in the old peach-trees, which 
began, to look like wooden soldiers that had gone 
through the wars and been shot in hundreds of places. 
But the instant Andy drew the bowstring and took 
aim, they knew well enough what it meant ; and it 
was provoking to see them dodge around on the bark 
and get out of sight just in time to let the arrow 
whiz by them. Then they would go to pecking and 
drumming again so near, that he wished a dozen 
times that he had some kind of an arrow that would 
shoot around a tree and hit on the other side. 

At length Andy grew tired of this fun ; and he 
had lost his arrow so many times in the grass, and 
had to hunt for it, that he got vexed, and thought 
it would be much better sport to go and shoot a 
chicken. 


ANDY’S ADVENTUBES. 


131 


Now he did not mean to kill a chicken, and he did 
not really think he would be able to hit one. But 
often we do things more easily when we are not try- 
ing very hard, than when we are too anxious. So it 
happened with Andy. He tried his luck on the 
speckled top-knot, which everybody considered the 
handsomest chick that had been hatched that sum- 
mer. He drew his bow, let go the string, and the 
speckled top-knot keeled over. He ran up to it, 
very proud, at first, of his good shot, but frightened 
enough when he found that the chicken only just 
kicked a little, and then lay quite still. 

Andy turned it over, and tried to stand it upon its 
legs, and thought what he should tell his parents. 

IMl say a hawk flew down and killed it I But I 
shot at the hawk, and he let it drop, just as he was 
flying away with it.’^ 

This was the story he made up, as he took poor 
top-knot and laid it down by the well-curb. 

He was still wishing to shoot something that was 
alive, and, seeing the cat creep along on the fence 
watching for a mouse, he concluded to try his luck 
with her. So he drew up, aimed and fired. Puss 
was so intent on watching the mouse that she paid 
no attention at all to the arrow, which struck the 
rail a little behind her, and glanced off towards the 
house. Andy heard a sound like shivered glass, and, 
running up, saw to his dismay that he had broken a 
window. 

Now he had been told never to shoot his arrow to- 


132 


YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS. 


wards the house j and how to conceal the accident 
and avoid punishment he couldn’t at first imagine. 
The glass lay scattered on the pantry shelf, and the 
hole in the pane was large enough to put his hand 
through. 

I’ll say Joe Beals came and wanted my bow, and 
because I wouldn’t let him have it, he threw a stone 
at me, and broke the window.” 

And having made up this story, he searched for 
such a stone as Joe would be apt to throw, and hav- 
ing found one, placed it on the pantry floor, to ap- 
pear as if it had fallen there after passing through 
the glass. 

These accidents made him dislike his bow, and he 
hung it up in the woodshed. Then he made a lasso 
of a string, and caught the cat by throwing the noose 
over her head. But Puss did not like the sport so 
well as he did, and gave him such a scratch that he 
was glad to let her run off with the lasso. Then he 
thought he would plague the old sow by getting one 
of her little pink- white pigs ; but the instant he 
had caught it up in his arms, it began to squeal ; 
and the mother, hearing it, ran after him with such 
a frightful noise, throwing up her great savage tusks 
at him, that he dropped it, and ran for his life. She 
stopped to smell of Piggy, and see if it was hurt ; 
and so he got away, though he was terribly fright- 
ened. 

Then Andy thought of his toy ship ; and having 
stopped the holes in the sink, and pumped it full of 


ANDY’S ADVENTURES. 


133 


water, he called it his ocean, and launched the Sea- 
bird.’^ With a pair of bellows he made wind, and 
with a dipper he made waves; and by placing a 
kettle bottom upwards in the middle of the sink he 
made an island ; and the good ship pitched and 
tossed, and rolled in a very exciting manner. At 
length he resolved to have a shipwreck. This he 
managed, not by putting the ship on a rock, but by 
putting a rock on the ship. He used for the pur- 
pose the stone Joe Beals did not throw through the 
pantry window, and the Sea-bird went down, with 
all her crew on board. He then opened the holes in 
the sink, and the tide, going out, left the vessel on 
her beam-ends, stranded. 

It would have been well for Andy if he had been 
contented with such innocent pastimes, without doing 
mischief to the cat, or chickens, or pigs, or trying to 
shoot the pretty birds that fly about the orchards, 
singing so sweetly, and eating the worms that de- 
stroy the trees. 

But nothing satisfied him ; and to have some better 
fun than any yet, he determined to stand in the door 
and scream “ Fire ! ” He could not imagine greater 
sport than to see the neighbors come running to put 
out the fire, and then laugh at them for being duped. 
He did not consider that they would have to leave 
their work, and run a long distance, till they were 
quite out of breath ; or that his laughter would be a 
very mean and foolish return for the good-will they 
would show in hastening to save his fathers house ; 


134 


YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS. 


or that, in case the house should really take fire some 
day, and he should call for help, people might think 
it another silly trick, and stay away. 

He stood in the door, filled his lungs with a long 
breath, opened his mouth as wide as he could, and 
screamed, Fire ! fire ! fire I ” 

Three times. He thought it so funny, that he had 
to stop and laugh. Then he took another breath, and 
screamed again, louder than before, — Fire I fire I 
fire ! fire I fire ! ” 

Five times ; and be beard tbe echoes away off 
among the hills ; and, looking across the lot, he saw 
old Mother Quirk hobbling on her crutch. 

Old Mother Quirk was just about the queerest 
woman in the world. She had a nose as crooked as 
a horn, and almost as long. It crooked down to meet 
her chin, and her chin crooked up to meet her nose. 
And some people said she could hold the end of a 
thread between them, when she wished to twist a 
cord with both hands, — although I doubt it. Her 
face was so full of wrinkles, that the smallest spot 
you could think of had at least twenty in it. Her 
eyes were as black as charcoal, and as bright as 
diamonds. She was very old; and her back was 
bent like a bow ; and her hair was perfectly white, 
and as long and fine as the finest kind of flax ; and 
she was so lame that she could never walk without 
her crutch. 

She was a good woman though, people said, and 
knew almost everything. She could tell when it 






ANDY’S ADVENTURES. 


135 


would rain to-morrow, and when it would be fair. 
She would shut her eyes, and tell you all about your 
friends at a distance ; describe them as plainly as if 
she saw them, and inform you if anything pleasant 
or unpleasant had happened to them. She knew 
more about curing the sick than the doctors did ; and 
once when Andy had hurt his foot by jumping upon 
a sharp stub, and it was so sore for a week that he 
could not step, and it had been poulticed and plas- 
tered till it was as white and soft as cheese-curd. 
Mother Quirk had cured it in three days, by putting 
on to it a bit of dried beef’s gall, which drew out a 
sliver that the doctors had never thought of. She 
was always ready to help people who were in trouble ; 
and now, when Andy screamed fire, she was the first 
to come hobbling on her crutch. 

What is burning, Andy ? ” she cried, as she came 
through the gate. “Wliere is the fire ?” 

In the bottom of the well ! ” replied Andy, laugh- 
ing till his side ached. Oh, ho, ho I why don’t you 
bring some water in a thimble, and put the well out? 
Oh, ho, ho I Mother Quirk ! ” 

There was fire in the old woman’s eyes just then, 
if not in the well. It flashed out of them like two 
little streams of lightning out of two little jet-black 
clouds. She lifted her crutch, and I am not sure but 
she would have struck Andy with it, if she had not 
been too lame to catch him. 

Put the well out, ho, ho, ho I ” laughed Andy, 
hopping away. ^ 


136 


YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS. 


“ I would put you in, if I could get hold of you ! ” 
said Mother Quirk, shaking her crutch at him. You 
wouldn’t be dancing around so on that foot of yours, 
if I hadn’t cured it for you, and this is the thanks I 
get for it ! ” 

That made Andy feel rather ashamed ; for he 
began to see how ungrateful it was in him to play 
the old woman such a trick. 

“ It isn’t the first time you’ve made me run for 
nothing, with my poor old crutch,” she went on, as 
he stopped laughing. “ The other day you told me 
your mother was sick abed, and wanted to see me ; 
and I left everything and hobbled over here ; and 
didn’t I find her ironing clothes in the kitchen, as 
well a woman as she ever was in her life, you little 
rogue I ” 

Andy laughed again at the recollection. “ You 
was smoking your pipe,” said he, with your old 
black cat in your lap, and ’twas fun to see you jump 
up and catch your crutch I ” 

Fun to you ! but do you think of my poor old 
bones ? I’m almost a hundred years old, ” said 
Mother Quirk ; and shall I tell you what I’ve learned 
all this time ? I’ve learned that the meanest thing in 
the world is to treat ill those who treat you kindly ,* 
and that the worst thing is lying.” 

Andy was sobered again, and the old woman con- 
tinued : 

What if everybody and everything should lie ? 
What if we could never know when to believe what 


ANDY’S ADVENTURES. 


137 


our friends and neighbors tell us ? What if my crutch 
should lie, and, when I lean on it, break and let me 
fall?’^ 

“ I think it would be fun ! ” said Andy. 

“ And what if the ground you stand on should not 
be the ground it appears to be, but a great pit, and 
should let you fall into it when you think you are 
walking on the grass ? Suppose that everything was 
a lie, that nothing was what it pretends to be, that 
the whole world should trick and cheat us?’^ cried 
the old woman, raising her voice. 

I should like to see the sport I ” said Andy, gig- 
gling again. 

Should you ? almost shrieked the old woman 
with a terrible look. 

“ Yes ! And Andy grinned at a safe distance. 

Then try it ! ” exclaimed Mother Quirk. 

And holding her crutch under her shoulder, she 
brought her hands together with a loud slap. Al- 
though Andy was at least three yards off, it seemed 
to him exactly as if she had boxed his ear. He was 
almost knocked down, and his head hummed like a 
bee-hive ; but he could not, to save his life, tell 
which ear had been boxed, nor which he ought to 
rub. Fora minute he kept whirling around, as dizzy 
as a top. Then a voice cried, Catch that rabbit I 

In an instant Andy stopped turning, and saw sit- 
ting on the grass right before him the most beautiful 
white rabbit, with the softest fur and the longest 
ears that ever were. 


138 


YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS. 


“0 Bunny I cried Andy, delighted; and he 
stepped forward to smooth the lovely creature with 
his hand. 

He had scarcely touched it, when it gave a little 
hop, and sat down again, just out of his reach. 

Bunny, Bunny ! poor Bun ! cried Andy, coax- 
ingly, creeping after it, as eager to catch it as ever 
a cat was to put her paw on a mouse. I won’t hurt 
you ! Poor, poor Bunny I ” 

But the rabbit watched him with its mild, timid 
eyes, and gave two leaps, as light as a feather and 
as noiseless, and sat down again by the garden fence. 
Andy crept up, still coaxing, and promising not to 
hurt it ; and when he had got quite near, he spread 
out both hands, gave a spring like a cat, and caught 
a whole handful of grass right where the pretty 
creature had sat that very instant ; but it was gone, 
and, looking over the fence, he saw it hopping away 
across the garden, from cabbage to cabbage, from 
hill to hill of the potatoes, in the airiest and most 
graceful manner, but not half as fast as a boy could 
run. So Andy resolved to chase it ; and getting 
over the fence, he hurried across the garden, and 
came up to it just as it was perched for a moment 
like a bird on the top of a slender weed, which did 
not bend in the least beneath its weight. Andy 
grasped eagerly with both hands, and caught the 
weed between them ; but away went the rabbit over 
the next fence, and across a large sunny pasture, 
making wonderful leaps, so long and light and high 


ANDY’S ADVENTURES. 


139 


that sometimes it seemed to sail in the air on 
wings. 

Andy ran after it, wild with excitement. Now it 
slipped through his fingers just as he pounced upon 
it, and tumbled headlong into a bunch of thistles. 
Now it floated in the air quite above his head, while 
he reached up and jumped, and ran on tiptoe after 
it, until he hit his foot against a stone, which he was 
looking too high to see, and nearly broke his shin 
in falling. Then it skipped along close upon the 
ground, stopping when he stopped, and seeming to 
invite him to come and catch it, but darting away 
again the moment he thought he had it fairly in his 
hands. 

At last it squatted down against a stump, in a 
large, hilly field full of stumps and stones and 
ploughed ground, where Andy had never been before. 

Almost crying, he was so vexed and tired and far 
from home, he came up to the stump. Bunny did 
not stir, but only winked a little, and pricked up its 
pretty ears. 

Now ril have you ! And Andy sprang upon 
it, catching it with both hands. I’ve got you ! 
I’ve got you ! I’ve got you I ” he cried, in high glee. 
‘‘ Now, my pretty, naughty — ho ! ” said Andjq with 
the greatest amazement. 

For, lo ! on opening his hands, he found that the 
thing he had given such a chase, and caught at last, 
was nothing but a little ball of thistle-down, which 
had been blown before him by the wind ! 


140 


YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS. 


There he held it, and rubbed his eyes as he looked 
at it, and wondered ; then he began to remember 
what Mother Quirk had said to him ; and he would 
have given a good deal just then to have been back 
again at the well, as he was before the angry old 
woman boxed his ear. He was afraid she had be- 
witched him. 

He looked at the thistle-down again and again, 
and turned it over, and picked it to pieces a little, 
then brushed it off from his hand, when, 0 wonder- 
ful ! it immediately changed to a dove, and flew into 
the sky ! But he found that he had pulled out some 
of its feathers, and still held one beautiful long white 
quill in his fingers. 

Now he was sorry he had not kept it. And 
he would have got up and run after it again ; but 
just then, happening to look where he had thrown 
the feathers down by the stump, he saw one of the 
strangest sights in the world. 

A little bit of a fellow, not so large as the end of 
his thumb, opened a little bit of a door in the side 
of the stump, walked out, and looked around as if he 
had heard a noise about his house, and wished to see 
what had happened. 

Tom Thumb ! ” exclaimed Andy, in the greatest 
surprise and delight. 

He had lately read the history of that famous little 
dwarf ; and he had often thought he would give all 
his playthings just to make his acquaintance. 


ANDY’S ADVENTURES. 141 

Tom Thumb ! Tom Thumb ! how do you do ? ’’ 
he said. 

But as Tom walked about, and paid no attention 
to him, he thought perhaps he had not addressed 
him respectfully enough. So he said, “ I beg your 
pardon, Mr. Thumb I I hope you are pretty well. 
Mr. Thumb.’^ 

At that the little gentleman took off his hat, and 
made the politest little bow imaginable. 

My name is Andy. I have read about you. 
Come, let’s be friends.” 

Mr. Thumb made some reply, but in such a very 
small voice that Andy could not understand a word. 

Speak again, Mr. Thumb, if you please.” 

And Andy put his head down to hear. But Tom 
appeared to be afraid; and, opening the little door 
again, he stepped back into the stump. 

Hello ! come out again 1 ” cried Andy. Won’t 
you ? Then I’ll find you ! ” 

And with the dove’s quill he forced the door of 
Tom Thumb’s house, and penetrated the entry. At 
that he heard a confused murmuring and muttering 
and shouting ; and, pulling away the feather, he saw 
rush out after it a dozen little fellows, all as angry 
as they could be. 

“ Excuse me, gentlemen ! ” said Andy, as soon as 
he had recovered from his astonishment. “ I didn’t 
mean any harm. Hid I hurt anybody ? ” 

They did not answer, but kept running to and fro, 
and talking among themselves, and darting in and 


142 


YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS. 


out of the door, as if to see what damage had been 
done. 

Andy watched them with the greatest interest. 
They were all dressed in the gayest style, and very 
much alike. They had on black velvet caps, striped 
with gold, and with long plumes that waved over 
their heads. They wore the handsomest little tunics, 
of stuff as much finer than silk as silk is finer than 
the bark of a tree. They had on beautiful bright 
yellow scarfs, and their tunics were bordered with 
fringes of the richest orange-color, and their trou- 
sers were all of dark velvet and cloth of gold. They 
dangled the neatest little swords at their sides, in 
golden scabbards ; and three or four of them clapped 
their hands furiously on the hilts ; and one, seeing 
the feather which Andy pushed at them, drew out 
the finest little black steel blade, not near so large 
as a needle, threw himself into a noble fencing atti- 
tude, and made an impetuous lunge, thrusting and 
brandishing his weapon in the bravest manner. 

Andy laughed gleefully, but stopped laughing, to 
wonder, when he saw another of the little warriors 
shake out the folds of a marvellous little cloak that 
covered his back, and, spreading it on the air, sail 
aloft with all his flashing colors, sword and plumes. 
He came straight to Andy^s ear, and said something 
in a voice of thunder, and even made a cut or two, 
at the boy^s hair ; then darted away out of sight. 

By this time the little doorway in the stump was 
crowded with these strange little people. Some 


ANDY’S ADVENTURES. 


143 


hurried to and fro, muttering and shaking their 
cloaks, some sailed aloft, and others passed in and 
out of the door, — all very much excited. Andy 
also noted several new-comers, who seemed quite 
surprised, on arriving, to find the little community 
in such confusion. The most of them brought some 
kind of plunder, — tiny bags of gold, armfuls of a 
minute kind of yellow-ripe grain, silks and satins of 
the fine quality mentioned, — which they hastened 
to hide away in their dwelling. 

But what astonished Andy most of anything was 
the appearance of a wonderful little lady, who 
walked out among the warriors like a queen. She 
was extremely small-waisted, although otherwise 
very portly. She wore hoops of the most extraor- 
dinary extension, which made her appear three or 
four times as large as the largest of her subjects. 
She walked with a haughty air, fanning herself with 
a little gossamer fan, while her servants went back- 
wards before her, spreading down the cunningest 
little carpets for her to tread upon. She was mag- 
nificently attired ; her dress, of the costliest mate- 
rials, the most gorgeous pattern, and the widest 
dimensions, was covered all over with the most 
splendid little fringes and flounces which it is pos- 
sible to conceive. Her countenance, although very 
beautiful, was angry, and full of scorn, and she 
appeared scolding violently, as she strode to and fro 
on the royal carpets. 

Andy was almost beside himself with delight and 


144 


YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS. 


amazement, as lie watched these proceedings. At 
length he said, These are not Tom Thumb’s peo- 
ple, but a nation of fairies ! 0 what a lucky boy I 
am I ” 

For it is not every boy, you know, that has the 
good fortune to discover these rare little people. 
They are in fact so seldom seen, that it is now gen- 
erally believed that no such beings exist except in 
story-books. Andy had read about them with a 
great deal of interest ; and although he had never 
been quite convinced that what was said of them 
was really true, he could now no longer have a doubt 
on the subject. He had not only discovered the 
home of the fairies, but he had seen the fairy queen. 

And as Andy was a selfish boy, who wished to 
possess every strange or pretty thing he saw, he 
felt an ardent desire to seize and carry away the 
beautiful and scornful little being, who walked up 
and down on the carpets, scolding, and fanning her- 
self with the gossamer fan. 

I will put her under a tumbler,” he said, and 
keep her there until I can have a glass cage made 
for her. And I will make all the little fairy people 
come and be my servants, as they will have to if I 
carry off their queen. And I will show her to every- 
body who comes. And everybody will wonder so ! 
0, what a lucky boy I am ! ” 

So saying, he formed his plan for capturing her 
Majesty. Being anxious to take her alive, and carry 
her off without doing her any personal harm, he 


ANDY’S ADVENTUEES. 


145 


resolved to put her into his hat and tie his handker- 
chief over it. Having got everything in readiness, 
he stooped down very carefully, and extended his 
hand. Nobody seemed to be frightened ; and the 
next moment the fairy queen was fast between his 
thumb and finger. 

Ha, ha I cried Andy ; '^the first time trying! 
Hurrah ! And he lifted her up to put her into his 
hat. 

But instantly the tiny creature began to struggle 
with all her might, and rustle her silks, and — queen 
as she was — scratch and bite in the sharpest man- 
ner. And at the same time the bravest little war- 
riors flew to the rescue, shrewdly darting at Andy’s 
face, as if they knew where to strike ; and suddenly, 
while he was laughing at their rage, he got a thrust 
in his forehead, and another in his neck, and a third 
under his sleeve, where a courageous little soldier 
had rushed in and resolutely driven in his rapier up 
to the hilt 1 Andy, who had no idea such little 
weapons could hurt so, was terrified, and began to 
scream with pain. And now, strange to see ! the 
fairies were no longer fairies, but a nest of bumble- 
bees ; it was the queen-bee he held in his fingers ; 
and two of them had left their stings sticking in his 
wounds 1 

Andy dropped the queen-bee, left his hat and 
handkerchief by the stump, and began to run, scream- 
ing and brushing away the bees, that still followed 
him, buzzing in his hair, and stinging him where 
10 


146 YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS. 

they could. He did not stop until he had run hall 
across the fallow, and the last of the angry swarm 
that pursued him had ceased buzzing about his ears. 

Oh I oh I oh I he sobbed, with grief and disap- 
pointment, and the pain of the stings. I didn’t 
know they were bumble-bees ! And I’ve lost my hat ! 
And I don’t know where I am ! Oh ! oh ! oh ! ” And 
he sat down on a stone and cried. 

Whoa ! hush, haw ! ” said a loud voice. 

And looking up through his tears, he saw an old 
farmer coming, with a long whip in his hand, driving 
a yoke of oxen. Andy stopped weeping to ask 
where he was, and the way home. 

“ About a peck and a half a day,” replied the 
farmer. 

Andy did not know what to make of this answer. 
So he said again, “ Can you tell me where my father 
and mother live ? ” 

One in one stall, and the other in the other. 
Hush, haw I ” cried the farmer. 

^^I’ve got lost, and I wish you’d help me,” said Andy. 

“ Star and Stripe,” replied the farmer. 

“ How far is it to my father’s ? ” the poor boy then 
asked. 

Well, about ninety dollars, with the yoke,” said 
the farmer. Whoa, back ! ” 

At this Andy felt so vexed, and weary, and be- 
wildered, that he could not help sobbing aloud. 

What ! ” said the farmer, angrily ; making fun 
of me ? ” And he drew up his whip to strike. 


ANDY’S ADVENTURES. 


147 


Oh, I wasn’t making fun I ” said Andy, frightened. 

You stopped me, and asked how much corn I 
feed my oxen ; and I told you. Then where I feed 
them ; and I told you that. Then their names ; and 
I said, Star and Stripe. Then what I would sell 
them for ; and I gave a civil answer. And now 
you’re laughing at me 1 ” said the farmer, raising his 
whip again. 

Then Andy perceived that, whenever he said any- 
thing, he seemed to say something else, and that his 
weeping appeared to be laughter, and that, if he 
stayed there a moment longer, he would surely get 
a whipping. So he started to run, with the owner 
of the oxen shouting at his heels. 

“ There ! take that for being saucy to an old man ! ” 
cried the farmer, fetching him a couple of sharp cuts 
across the back. Then he returned to his oxen and 
drove them away ; while Andy got off from the fal- 
low as soon as he could, weeping as if his heart 
would break. 

Seeing not far off a beautiful field of clover, the 
boy thought he would go and lie down in it, and 
rest. 

He had never seen such clover in his life. It was 
all in bloom with blue and red and white flowers, 
which seemed to glow and sparkle like stars among 
the green leaves. How it waved and rippled and 
flashed in the sunshine, when the wind blew I Andy 
almost forgot his grief ; and surely he had quite for- 
gotten that nothing was now any longer what it 


148 


YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS. 


appeared, when he waded knee-deep through the 
delicious clover, and laid himself down in it. No 
sooner had he done so than he saw that what he had 
mistaken for a field was a large pond, and he had 
plunged into it all over like a duck. 

Strangling and gasping for breath, and drenched 
from head to foot, Andy scrambled out of the water 
as fast as he could. His hair was wet ; and little 
streams ran into his eyes and down his cheeks. His 
ears rang with the water that had got into them. 
He was so frightened that he hardly knew what had 
happened. And in this condition he sat down on 
the shore to let his clothes drip, and to empty the 
water out of his shoes. 

Having thought it all over, Andy resolved to make 
a new start, and not be deceived by anything again. 
Finding his coat very wet, he concluded to wring it 
out, and hang it somewhere to dry. He saw a log 
and a large wood-pile near by ; and he was going 
boldly to spread his coat on them in a good sunny 
place, when he happened to think that these also 
might be cheats, and that it would be wise to test 
them before going too near. 

He took up a pebble, and threw it. He hit the 
end of the log, which immediately changed into a 
head with a hat on it ; and the log jumped up, and 
strode fiercely towards him, on two as good legs as 
ever he saw. 

“ What are you stoning me for ? ” cried the log, 
with a terrible look. 


ANDY’S ADVENTURES. 


149 


“ Oh, Mr. Log ! I didn’t mean to I I didn’t know it 
would hurt you I ” said Andy, clasping his hands. 

I’ll teach you to throw stones and call names 1 ” 
growled the log, — no, not the log, but the teamster, 
whom Andy had mistaken for a log as he lay on the 
roadside by his wagon. And he gave two or three 
extra stripes to the boy’s trousers with his long whip- 
lash. “ I didn’t mean to ! I didn’t know it would 
hurt you I ” he said, mockingly, as he went back to 
his team ; while Andy rubbed his legs and shrieked. 

Now, when wagon and driver were gone, and the 
lad saw that there was neither log nor wood-pile 
anywhere by the road, he became more and more 
alarmed about himself. Everything was a lie, then ; 
and, the best he could do, he could not help being 
deceived and injured. Bitterly he regretted using 
old Mother Quirk so ill ; and he said to himself that 
he would never tell another lie in his life, if he could 
now only get safely home, and find things what they 
appeared to be. 

Being very tired, he looked about for a stick to 
walk with. He thought, too, something of the kind 
would be useful to feel with, and test the truth of 
things. Soon he saw a very pretty stick lying in the 
sun. It was not quite straight ; but it had as hand- 
some little wavy curves as if it had been carved. It 
was beautifully tapered ; and as he came quite near 
it, he saw that it was painted with the most wonder- 
ful colors, — glossy black, bright green spots, and 
silver rings. It appeared to be a cane, which prob- 


150 


YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS. 


ably some very rich man had lost. Its carved handle 
was of gold, set round with precious stones, in the 
midst of which were two very bright, glittering 
diamonds. 

Such a cane is worth picking up ! ” said Andy, 
highly pleased. “ I hope the owner won^t come to 
claim it.” And he stooped down to take hold of the 
stick. But he had scarcely touched it, when it be- 
gan to move and squirm, and coil up under his hand. 
He sprang back just in time to save his parents the 
grief of a funeral ; for what he had mistaken for a 
cane was a living serpent of the most venomous kind ; 
and it raised its angry crest, darted out its forked 
tongue, and struck at him with its hooked fangs, 
making his blood curdle and his flesh creep, as he ran 
screaming away. 

Andy reached a wall — or what seemed a wall — 
and scrambled upon it, putting one leg over it, and 
looking back ; when the stones began to swell and 
swell under him, and the whole wall rose up with such 
a tremendous lurch, that he was nearly thrown head 
foremost to the ground. And he now perceived that, 
instead of climbing a wall, he had mounted a horse 
that lay dozing in the field. Before he could get off, 
the horse began to walk away. In vain Andy cried 
Whoa ! ” and gently pulled his mane. The horse 
seemed to understand Whoa I ” to mean Go 
along!” and he began to trot. Pulling his mane 
had the effect of pricking him with a goad ; and 
he began to prance. Then Andy gently patted 


ANDY’S ADVENTURES. 


151 


him ; but he might as well have struck him with a 
whip. The animal began to gallop ! And when 
Andy, to avoid being flung ofif, clung to him with 
liis feet, it was as if there had been sharp spurs in 
his heels, and the animal began to run I 

Across the fields ; faster and faster and faster ; 
wildly snorting ; measuring the ground with fearfully 
long leaps, and making it thunder under his hoofs ; 
clearing fences and ditches, and heaps of brush and 
logs, as if he had wings ; away — away — away ! — 
through thickets, through brier-lots, through gar- 
dens, and orchards, and farm-yards ; with Andy 
hugging his neck in extreme terror, thrusting into 
his ribs the heels that seemed to have spurs on them ; 
the wild steed scudded and plunged. 

Andy clung as long as he could. The terrible 
bounces almost hurled him ofi* ; the wind almost blew 
him ofi* ; the thickets, and briers, and boughs of trees 
almost scratched him off. Everywhere along his 
track people came out to stare, and to stop the horse. 
Men hallooed, and shook their hats ; boys screamed, 
and shook their bats ; women shooed,” and shook 
their aprons ; all contributing to frighten him the 
more. 

And now Andy felt his breath partly jolted out 
of him, and partly sucked out by the wind. And for 
a moment he scarcely knew anything, except that 
he was losing his hold, slipping, sliding, — a hairy 
surface passing rudely from under him, — and the 
ground suddenly flying up, with a stunning flap and 
slap, into his face. 


152 


YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS. 


In a little while a young lad, considerably resem- 
bling Andy, might have been seen sitting on the 
grass of a field, rubbing his shoulder, with a jarred 
and joyless expression of countenance, which seemed 
hesitating between fright and tears, — between numb- 
ness and deadness of despair, and a returning sense 
of pain and grief. He saw a gay-looking horse frisk- 
ing and kicking up along by the fence ; felt in vain 
for his hat, but found a shock of wild hair instead ; 
saw his torn trousers, wet not with water only, but 
also with blood from his scratched legs ; arose slowly 
and sufferingly to his feet ; looked imploringly about 
him, and began to snivel. 

Not knowing what to do, he sat down again, and 
wept miserably, until he heard a sound of wheels, 
and a voice say, “Get up, Jerry I 

“ That’s our wagon — and father and mother ! 
exclaimed Andy, in great joy, springing up as quickly 
as his sore limbs would permit him. “ Father ! 
father ! ” and he ran towards the road. 

The vehicle rattled on. His father either did not 
hear or did not heed him. He could not make his 
mother look up, scream as loud as he would. Jerry 
trotted soberly on, as before. Only Brin, the dog, 
pricked up his ears, gave a surly bark, leaped the 
fence, and approached him shyly, bristling and 
growling. 

“ Brin ! Brin ! here, Brin ! ” said Andy, alarmed at 
\he dog’s extraordinary behavior. 

“ Gr-r-r-r ! ” said Brin, with a snarl and a snap. 


ANDY’S ADVENTURES. 


153 


0 father ! father ! ” shrieked Andy. 

“ Whoa ! ” said Mr. Mountford, stopping Jerry, 
and turning to look. “ Come here, Brin 1 " And he 
whistled. 

Brin, having paused to take a sagacious snuff of 
Andy, without appearing to recognize him, ran back 
to the road, the boy following him. 

What ’s the trouble ? said Mrs. Mountford. 

What a strange-looking dog that is!’^ — fixing her 
eyes on Andy. “ It looks to me like a mad dog, and 
I’m afraid Brin will get bit. Come here, Brin ! ” 

Brin ran obediently under the wagon ; and Andy, 
flinging up his arms, rushed towards his parents. 

“ Oh, it’s me ! it’s me I Father ! mother ! it’s me ! ” 

Get out, you whelp ! ” exclaimed Mr. Mountford, 
striking at him with his whip. 

“ Oh ! oh ! ” shrieked Andy, hit in the face by his 
own father’s lash ! 

Ki-hi, then ! ” And Mr. Mountford drove on. 

Andy still followed, running as fast as he could, 
wildly weeping and calling. 

What a hateful dog that is I ” said Mrs. Mount- 
ford. “ Give me the whip ! ” And as soon as Andy 
got near enough, she beat him mercilessly over the 
bare head. 

Then Andy, exhausted, out of breath, his heart 
broken, fell down despairingly, with his face in the 
dust, while the vehicle passed over the hill out of 
sight. There he lay, sobbing in his misery, and 
moistening with a little trickling stream of tears the 


154 


YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS. 


sand by the bridge of his nose, when an old woman 
came hobbling that way on a crutch. 

“ What’s this ? ” said she. Her back was curved 
like a bow ; but she bent it still more, stooping over 
to look at Andy. 

The boy raised his head, brushed the adhering 
dirt from his nose, lifted his eyes, and recognized 
good old Mother Quirk. But he could not speak. 

I declare ! ” said she, one would think it was 
Andy Mountford, if anybody ever saw Andy Mount- 
ford in such a plight as this I ” 

That encouraged the wretched boy to open his 
mouth, spit out the dirt that obstructed his speech, 
and in grievous accents pour forth the story of 
his woes. 

But how do I know this is true ? ” said Mother 
Quirk, putting up a pinch of snuff under her hooked 
nose. 

“ It is true, every word ; as true as I am Andy I ” 
wept the boy. 

. But how do I know you are Andy ? Folks and 
things lie so, in this world 1 ” said Mother Quirk. 

But never mind ; I suppose it is fine sport ; and if 
it is really you, Andy, I suppose I may as well leave 
you to enjoy it I ” 

She adjusted her crutch, and was hobbling away, 
when Andy, on his knees, called after her, making 
the most solemn promises of truthfulness in the 
future, if she would help him home. 

How do I know what to believe ? ’’ said the old 


ANDY’S ADVENTURES. 


155 


■woman, piercing him with her black, sparkling eyes. 
“ You may be a reptile. IVe known more than one 
that pretended to be human, and honest, and grate- 
ful, turn out a reptile at last. Everything is so de- 
ceitful, we never know what to depend upon.’^ 

She was passing on again ; but Andy ran after her, 
and caught her gown, still pleading and weeping. 

Bless my heart ! Is it really Andy ? said she, 
leaning on her crutch. “ IVe a good mind to trust 
you, and try you once I 

‘‘ Do, do I good Mother Quirk ! ’’ 

^^Well, come along; my house is close by; and 
there comes my black cat to meet me ! 

Andy was overjoj^ed, and clung to her as if he was 
afraid she too would turn out a delusion — a lie — 
and work him some new mischief. 

They passed a field, in which the old woman picked 
up a hat, which she placed on his head, and a hand- 
kerchief, which she told him to put into his pocket. 

If you are Andy, they belong to you,’^ she said, 
with a shrewd look out of her coal-black eyes. 

They reached her cottage, where she washed him, 
combed his hair, took a few stitches in his clothes, 
and stroked his hurts with hands dipped in some 
exquisitely soothing ointment. Then they set out 
to return to his fatherV house. 

She accompanied him as far as the well, where she 
gave him a sudden box on the ear, which set him 
whirling. The next he knew, he was getting up 
from the grass, like one awaking from a dream. He 


156 


YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS. 


thought he had a glimpse of a crutch and a dark 
green gown vanishing behind the wood-shed, but 
could not be certain. He looked in vain upon his 
person for any evidence of rents and bruises, bee- 
stings, or drenching. He was as good as new, to all 
appearance ; and one who did not know the subtle 
power of old Mother Quirk would have said that he 
had merely fallen asleep on the door-yard turf, and 
had a dream. 

Andy I ” cried a voice. 

That was a reality, if anything was. His folks 
had returned, and it was his father calling him. 
“ Andy ! come and open the gate I ” 

He hastened to swing the old gate around on its 
hinges, while Brin ran up eagerly to caress him and 
leap upon his legs, and Jerry walked slowly through, 
drawing the family one-horse wagon. 

Have you been a good boy, Andy ? asked his 
mother, dismounting at the horse-block. 

^‘Yes, ma’am. I mean,” he added, fearing that 
was an untruth, — I don’t know, — I guess not 
very ! ” 

What I you haven’t been doing any mischief, 
have you?” cried his father. 

Andy remembered the stories he had made up 
about the hawk killing the chicken, and the Beals 
boy throwing a stone through the pantry window. 
But he also remembered his terrible adventure in 
a world of lies, — mishaps and horrors which were 
somehow dreadfully real to him, whether he had 


ANDY’S ADVENTURES. 


157 


actually experienced them, or dreamed them, or been 
insane and imagined them. So he falteringly said, 
I — I — killed the top-knot with my bow-and- 
arrow I 

There indeed lay the top-knot, stark dead, by the 
curb. His parents looked at it regretfully; and his 
father said, I am sorry I sorry ! that nice chicken 1 
But you didn’t mean to, did you ? ” 

I didn’t think I should hit it I ” said Andy, hang- 
ing his head with contrition. 

Well, if it was an accident, let it pass,” said his 
mother. “ It isn’t so bad as if you had told a lie 
about it. I’d rather have every chicken killed, 
than have my son tell a lie 1 ” And she caressed him 
fondly. 

“ You haven’t done anything else, I hope ? ” said 
Mr. Mountford. 

‘‘I — I — shot at the cat, and sent my arrow 
through the window I ” Andy confessed. 

“ Haven’t I told you not to shoot your arrow to- 
wards the house ? ” cried his father, sternly. But, 
at a glance from Mrs. Mountford, he added, relen*fc- 
ingly, But as you have been so truthful as to own 
up to it. I’ll forgive you this time. Nothing pleases 
me so much as to have my son tell the truth ; for the 
worst thing is lying.’’ 

That was what Mother Quirk had said, and it re- 
minded Andy of the false alarm which had brought 
her to the house. That was the hardest thing for 


158 


YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS. 


him to confess ! And it was the hardest thing for 
his parents to forgive. 

Poor old Mrs. Quirk, with her lame leg ! his 
mother reproachfully said. How could you, Andy ? 

I didn’t think, — I didn’t know how bad it was ! ” 
he replied. 

What did she say to you ? What did the poor 
woman do ? ” 

‘‘ She scolded me, and boxed my ears, and made 
me crazy, I guess, — for such awful things have 
happened to me ! I never can tell what I have been 
through — or dreamed I went through — till she 
brought me back 1 But I’ve made up my mind I 
never will tell another lie, or act a lie again, if you 
will forgive me this once I ” 

I forgive you ! we forgive you ! my dear, dear 
boy ! ” exclaimed Mrs. Mountford, folding him in her 
arms, while Mr. Mountford smiled upon him, well 
pleased, and stroked his hair. 


THE WOLF-HUNT. 


J ED PAEKINSON, let that dog alone ! ” 

He’s my dog, Cy Hayward, and I shall do 
what I please with him.” 

Cy stepped up to the fence. 

‘‘ You have no right to be cruel to him, if he is 
your dog,” he said. I tell you to let him alone ! ” 
You better go about your business I ” said Jed. 
Crack went his whip, and the dog gave another 
yelp. 

Cy jumped over the fence. 

This occurred in one of the early settlements of 
Illinois, long before there was any Society for the 
Prevention of Cruelty to Animals ; but Cyrus Hay- 
ward had too kind and noble a nature to allow him 
to stand by and see a dog so cruelly beaten without 
remonstrating. He sprang over the fence and 
walked up to Jed, and said: 

“ Don’t strike that dog again I ” 

You get out ! ” retorted Jed. “ He’s my dog. 

159 


160 


YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS. 


I’m in my own door-yard, too, and I’ll thrash you if 
you interfere 1 ” 

Cy was about seventeen. He had been brought 
up on the prairies, and had been accustomed to 
trapping and hunting ever since he was ten years of 
age. He was no coward, and yet he did not like to 
quarrel. 

Tied to the dog’s neck was a cord about ten feet 
long. This Jed held with one hand, while he wielded 
a whip with the other. He was trying to teach the 
poor frightened dog to come to him. 

Come here ! come here now ! ” he would yell, 
jerking the rope and plying the lash, while the ter- 
rified, cringing, shivering brute hung back, until he 
was dragged, panting, to his master’s feet. 

“ That’s no way to teach a dog anything I ” cried 
Cyrus, with hot indignation. “ You should coax 
him, not scare him to death.” 

Will you stand out of the way ?’’ Jed demanded, 
angrily. 

What for? ” 

“ So I can swing my whip.” 

No, I won’t.” 

Then I shall hit you I ” 

Cy stood his ground resolutely. You’d better 
not,” he said. 

I’m not afraid of any of the Hayward tribe 1 ” 
exclaimed Jed j and he struck at Cy’s legs. 

In an instant Cyrus snatched the whip from his 
hand and flung it half across the yard. 


THE WOLF-HUNT. 


161 


Jed let go the rope and sprang furiously at Cy. 
The contest was short, sharp, and decisive.’^ When 
it was ended, Jed lay flat on his back on a pile of 
chips, and Cy knelt over him. The dog and rope 
had disappeared around the house. 

Now, look here, Jed Parkinson,’^ said the victor. 

I didn’t come in here to have any fuss with you ; 
but you have no right to whale a dog in that way, 
even if he is yours. If I see you doing it, I have a 
right to stop it. Now you may get up ; but don’t 
touch me again, and don’t let me see you lashing 
that pup again ! ” 

Jed got upon his feet, but made no reply, and Cy 
walked unmolested out of the yard. 

This was the beginning of a feud which led to the 
more tragical incident I am going to relate. 

Cyrus felt indignant at the cruelty he had wit- 
nessed, but cherished no grudge in consequence of 
the encounter he had had. Not so Jed. He was 
not the lad to say much of his disgraceful defeat in 
a bad cause, but he nourished a relentless hatred 
against his neighbor. 

Whenever they met afterwards, he glowered upon 
Cyrus angrily, and passed him without a word. Cy- 
rus at flrst spoke to him pleasantly, as if nothing had 
happened ; but seeing Jed’s disposition towards him, 
he smiled disdainfully, and took no more notice of him. 

Jed knew better than to attempt any open attack 
on a fellow of so much strength and spirit ; but day 
and night he studied to be revenged. 

11 


162 


YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS. 


Soon Cyrus found his rabbit-traps mysteriously 
destroyed. He set them in other places, and they 
were destroyed again. Then his own dog lay dead 
one morning in the road before the house, evidently 
poisoned. He did not know who committed these 
cowardly acts, but he could not help thinking 
of Jed. 

The death of his dog caused Cyrus great grief 
and indignation, and the look on Jed’s face the next 
time they met, convinced him that his suspicion was 
not misplaced. 

I didn’t think you such a sneak ! ” he exclaimed, 
angrily. If you’ve a grudge against me, why don’t 
you step up and settle your account man-fashion? 
I wouldn’t go prowling round breaking a fellow’s 
traps, and killing dogs that are honester and better 
than you are I ” 

You want me to take it out of your skin, do ye? ” 
growled Jed. 

“ I think it would be a good deal more manly in 
you, if you’ve anything to take out,’' replied Cyrus. 
‘‘But what’s the use of all this nonsense? You 
were abusing your pup when I stopped you, and 
you know it. You should have thanked me ; but 
instead, because I took the part of your dog, you 
must go and murder mine. That shows what sort 
of fellow you are.” 

“ Have I said I killed your dog? ” Jed called after 
Cy, as he was walking away. 

“ Said you killed my dog ? A fellow who’ll do so 


THE WOLF-HUNT. 


163 


mean a thing isn^t man enough to own it.” And he 
went his way without more words. 

“ Wants me to take it out of his skin, does he? ” 
snarled Jed Parkinson to himself, more furious than 
ever under Cy’s scornful rebukes. Well, only let 
me see the chance 1 ” 

The chance was not long in coming. 

Prairie wolves were plenty in those days, and they 
did great damage to the farmers’ flocks. There was 
unlimited pasturage for sheep, but they required 
constant watching, and must be carefully penned 
every night. The walls of the folds were built of 
logs and poles, and usually had an inward slope, 
which made it easy for the wolves to leap over into 
the enclosure, but impossible for them to get out. 

A wolf after he has thus reached his prey, it is 
said, will, before attacking it, make sure of his own 
means of escape ; and so sometimes one wolf, and 
often several wolves together, would be found in the 
morning shut up with the frightened sheep, more 
frightened than they, when the farmer or farmer’s 
boy appeared with the deadly gun. 

Numbers were killed in this and other ways ; but 
to more quickly rid the country of the pest, the set- 
tlers used to unite in a grand wolf-hunt once a year. 

After the flrst light snowfall in November, one of 
those great hunts was to come off. 

Early in the morning, according to a plan agreed 
upon, every able-bodied man and boy in the settle- 
ment, or cluster of settlements, turned out, mounted 


164 


YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS. 


or afoot, with their dogs and guns. They formed a 
ring many miles in extent, beating the groves and 
thickets, and driving the wolves towards a common 
centre, where a great slaughter was pretty sure to 
take place. 

The focus of the hunt this year was to be Morton’s 
Grove, a piece of oak woods about three miles from 
the homes of Jed and Cy. 

The morning’s sport was fine, and many a wolf 
was shot, or taken down by the dogs, during the 
drive. 

The wolf of the prairies is inferior in size, strength, 
and fierceness, to the great gaunt gray wolves of 
other parts of the country, or of the Old World. 
He has not 

“ Their long gallop, which can tire 
The hound’s deep hate and hunter’s fire.’* 

It was easy enough for a hunter, mounted on a 
not over- fresh horse, to ride up beside a jaded wolf 
that had been driven in from some distant point, and 
bring him down with a shot. 

Jed Parkinson was on foot, and towards the close 
of the day he posted himself in an oak-tree in Mor- 
ton’s Grove to watch for wolves. 

He had had pretty good luck, and now, while he 
was watching, something far more exciting than the 
sight of a wolf attracted his attention. 

A white horse with his rider was coming over a 
little hillock in the woods, not more than twenty 


THE WOLF-HUNT. 165 

rods away. Jed knew the horse, and guessed who 
was the rider. 

It was Cyrus Hayward. He was slowly approach- 
ing the tree in which Jed was perched. A clump 
of undergrowth intervened, in which horse and rider 
were hidden for a few moments. That gave Jed a 
chance to reflect. 

Proud because he's got a horse to ride, and I 
haven't I " was his first envious thought. 

I’d like to give his horse a shot," was his next 
thought. I could do it, and pretend I was shoot- 
ing at a wolf." 

But if he should kill or maim the horse, his father 
might have to pay for the animal. Jed did not fancy 
that. Besides, in shooting at the horse, he might 
hit the rider. 

He liked the idea of that well enough, and sud- 
denly all his pent-up hate seemed to burst into a 
raging fire within him. 

“ Wants me to take it out of his skin, does he ? 
I will. I'll shoot just as he is coming out of the 
underbrush. My father won't have him to pay for, 
and I can claim that it was an accident; I was shoot- 
ing at a wolf." 

Something like this — not in so many words, but 
in a wild torrent of feeling — rushed through Jared 
Parkinson’s heart and brain. 

“ I shall never have another so good a chance ; I’ll 
pay him now I ” And he took aim at the bushes, 


166 


YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS. 


which were already rustling, before the white horse 
reappeared. 

It was a moment of terrible excitement. The great 
artery throbbed in the boy^s neck as if it would 
burst ; the woods and the sky turned almost a dull 
red color before his eyes, and his hands shook so that 
he could hardly hold his gun. 

He could not get his aim ; but there came horse 
and rider, and he must fire before they were well 
out of the brush, or people would not believe in the 
accident. 

His fowling-piece was loaded with large slugs. 
The range was short. Cyrus was now not more 
than six rods ofi*; his form could be plainly seen 
amidst the opening boughs, bare as they were, ex- 
cept for clusters of dry red leaves fluttering here 
and there. 

J ed’s shaking hands held the gun, — his trembling 
finger jerked the trigger. 

But at that moment his foot slipped from a limb 
on which he was standing. In his excitement he 
had forgotten to keep his hold on the tree secure. 

As the report of the gun rang through the woods, 
and the heavy slugs clipped the twigs over Cy’s 
head, a dark object tumbled out of the tree, crashed 
from branch to branch, and with a dull thud struck 
the ground. 

Cyrus was a good deal more startled at sight of 
the plunging object than by the whistling slugs and 
the cutting of the twigs above him. He was not 


THE WOLF-HUNT. 


167 


hurt, and he had no idea that he had been shot at. 
It was not in his frank and generous nature to 
believe anything so bad even of Jed. He spurred 
to the spot, and found a boy lying quite still beside 
his gun under the tree. 

^^Jed Parkinson!’^ he exclaimed. ^^Are you 
killed 

No reply. 

Cy stooped and lifted him up a little. Then Jed 
gave a groan. 

How did it happen ? Where are you hurt ? 
cried Cyrus, forgetting instantly that he ever had 
any quarrel with the injured lad who had taken the 
fearful plunge from the tree. Is it your back ? 

Jed, rolling up his eyes, seemed to recognize his 
enemy, gave another groan and a convulsive shud- 
der, and swooned. 

Cy shouted for help, and after a while a horseman 
came galloping to the spot. 

What is it ? A wolf? he cried, as he reined up 
towards the oak. 

“ No, a boy ; Jed Parkinson,’’ Cyrus replied. He 
fell out of the tree. His gun went off at the same 
time. He has got a bad hurt.” 

I should think so,” said the man. Give him a 
taste of this.” 

He took a flask from his pocket, and poured some 
of its contents into Jed’s lips. Jed choked, stirred, 
and once more opened his eyes. 

“ There, he’s all right,” said the man. “ Get him 


168 


YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS. 


on to your horse in a few minutes ; you can take 
him home without any trouble.^’ 

‘‘Don’t leave me, Mr. Graves!” Jed pleaded, 
clinging to the man’s arm. “ I shall die here if I 
urn left alone 1 ” 

“ But you won’t be left alone ; Cy will stay by 
you,” said the man. “ You ain’t much hurt.” 

“ 0 yes, I am I Don’t leave me ! ” Jed implored. 

He felt a horror at being left with Cyrus ; but it 
was in vain that he entreated and held on to Graves’s 
arm with his feeble grasp. 

Graves mounted his horse again and rode away. 

“ Don’t be afraid I ” Cyrus cried, cheeringly ; “ I’ll 
stick by you. I’ll get you home somehow. Now, 
can you sit up ? ” 

Jed tried it, but nearly fainted again as he sank 
back in Cy’s arms. 

“ I’m awfully hurt,” he said, as soon as he could 
speak. “ I’m afraid my back is broke.” 

“ How did you fall ? ” Cy inquired. 

“I — I slipped. I was shooting at a wolf.” And 
Jed looked up in his agony to see if there was any 
suspicion of the truth in Cy’s face. 

“ You came near shooting me,” Cy replied. 
“ You’ve got a terrible wrench, but I don’t believe 
your back is broken.” 

“ I can’t ride that horse ! ” groaned Jed. 

“ I’m afraid you can’t,” said Cy. “ If I could only 
get you well on my back, I believe I could carry 
you.” 


THE WOLF-HUNT. 


169 


It was growing dark ; something mnst be done 
speedily. Again Cy hallooed loudly for help. Pres- 
ently a young fellow he knew appeared on foot. He 
had a rifle in his hands, and a hatchet, with several 
wolves’ tails, at his belt. 

“ John Allen I ” exclaimed Cy ; “ you are just the 
fellow I want, — you and your hatchet.” 

The situation was quickly explained. The hatchet 
was needed for cutting poles and boughs to make a 
litter, and John Allen’s help was required in carry- 
ing Jed home. 

“ You can take my hatchet,” said the hunter, “ but 
I’m just tuckered out. It’s all I can do to lug myself 
home.” 

Oh, but you’ll help, I know you will ! ” Cy in- 
sisted. “We can’t leave him here, and he can’t ride 
a horse. You’re not the one to forsake anybody in 
such a situation as this, — I know you’re not, John 
Allen.” 

“Wal, I’ll see,” said John, sitting down by Jed, 
while Cy went to chop the poles. 

Jed heard every word, and Cy’s kindness sent a 
pang to his heart. Allen seemed reluctant to render 
assistance, while Cy alone was full of zeaLin his be- 
half. And this was the enemy he would have shot 
half an hour before ! 

The litter prepared, Cy persuaded John to help 
him place Jed carefully upon it. The handles were 
two stout poles about eight feet long j on these the 


170 


YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS. 


boughs were placed^ forming a bed for the disabled 
boy. The guns were strapped to the saddle. 

Now carry the front end/’ said Cy ; “ I’ll take 
the rear, and lead my horse.” 

John was a good-natured fellow ; he could not 
refuse the urgent request. They took up the litter, 
with Jed stretched upon it, and began the toilsome 
journey home# 

I don’t see why you should do this for me,” Jed 
said to Cyrus, once when the bearers had set down 
the litter and stopped to rest. 

Why shouldn’t I ? ” said Cy. 

After — our — trouble,” faltered Jed. 

You don’t think I’ve laid up any ill-will on that 
account, do you ? ” cried Cyrus, generously. 

^^I don’t know; some fellows would,” Jed con- 
fessed. 

Even if I had,” said Cyrus, I should have for- 
gotten it all the minute I saw you lying there under 
the tree. If I took a dog’s part when I saw him 
abused, why shouldn’t I stand by a boy when I see 
him suffering ? ” 

“ It isn’t every fellow that would,” replied Jed. 

There was a strange look in the eyes he turned 
up at Cyrus from the litter in the November twi- 
light. He had never understood that nature before ; 
he was beginning to see it now, and to have a 
deep, remorseful troubled feeling towards his late 
enemy . 

The litter was taken up again, and carried with 


THE WOLF-HUNT. 171 

labor and difficulty through wood and swale in the 
increasing gloom. 

At length they struck a prairie road, and a quarter 
of a mile further on they came to a house. 

There Cyrus obtained a wagon, in which he made 
a good bed of hay, on which Jed was carefully laid. 
Then, having seen him on his way home, he mounted 
his horse again, and rode in the other direction for a 
doctor. 

He reached Jed’s home almost as soon as Jed him- 
self did, borne on the slowly-moving wagon. The 
doctor arrived soon after. Then, when there was 
nothing more that he could do, Cyrus bade the suf- 
ferer good-bye and left him. 

Jed’s back was not broken, but he had met with 
injuries which confined him a long time to his bed. 
It was six weeks before he was able to sit up and to 
walk about a little. In the meanwhile, Cyrus visited 
him nearly every day, carried him books to read, 
and amused him with stories and games. 

During one of these visits, Jed, who had been 
gazing long and wistfully at Cyrus while he was 
reading, gave a deep sigh. Cyrus, looking quickly 
at him from his book, saw that his eyes were blurred 
with tears. 

What’s the matter ? ” he asked, pleasantly. 

Don’t read any more just now,” Jed replied, in 
a stifled voice ; there’s something I want to tell you. 
I must tell you ! ” 

And he began to sob. 


172 YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS. 

“ What is it, Jed ? ” Cy asked, soothingly. “ Don’t 
be afraid ; speak out.” 

“ I ain’t afraid, — I’m ashamed,” said J ed, choking 
back his sobs. I’ve tried to keep from telling you, 
but I shall die if I don’t speak. It was me — you 
knew it was me that broke your traps.” 

0 yes, I knew it ; but I don’t care for that now,” 
said Cy. 

^‘And I — I pisoned your dog,” Jed confessed, 
with a look of anguish. 

“ But I’ve forgiven that,” Cyrus replied. I know 
you are sorry. You wouldn’t do such a thing again, 
I’m sure, so say no more about it.” 

All that is nothing to what I was going to cio ! ” 
Jed groaned, and turned his face away for a minute. 
“ You can’t forgive that.” 

“ Of course I can’t unless I know what it is,'’ said 
Cy, wondering what would come next. 

That’s it ; I want you to forgive me, and so I — 
I must tell you!” Jed said again, turning his ago- 
nized, guilty face once more towards his friend. 

“ I wasn’t shooting at a wolf when I tumbled from 
the tree ; I was going to shoot at — you 1 ” 

Cyrus looked at him in utter astonishment, but 
without speaking a word. Jed ground his teeth in 
^an agony of remorse. 

After a while Cy answered : 

I’m sorry you told me ; but may be it is better 
that you should have it off your mind. Don’t tell 
anybody else, though, and we will forget it.” 


THE WOLF-HUNT. 


173 


I don’t want to forget it I ” Jed exclaimed. 

I’m so glad I tumbled ! Now I’m going to live 
to show you that I never can be again such a boy 
as I was then I ” 

He did live, and he kept his word. From that 
time Cyrus Hayward had no better friend than 
Jared Parkinson, and the town no truer or manlier 


THE 


FORTUNES OF CALEB KEMP. 

A STORY OF A JUNK-SHOP. 


O LD Jasper Kemp had the name of being a miser, 
and people who knew him doubted whether he 
loved anything but his junk-shop and his small gains, 
until his brother Caleb, who was a cobbler, and died 
a poor man, left a little Caleb on his hands. 

Little Caleb was then twelve years old. Uncle 
Jasper groaned dreadfully over him at first, and 
vowed that the expense of keeping a boy like that 
would be his ruin.’^ 

“ Why,” said he, standing and cracking his finger- 
joints, with his features all in a snarl, — as his way 
was when anything disturbed his peace of mind or 
his pocket, — a boy like that will eat as much as a 
man ! Much as a man, by the Great Dictionary ! ” 
That was his favorite oath. Being a very igno- 
rant person, he had a sort of superstitious regard for 

174 


THE FORTUNES OF CALEB KEMP. I75 

learning, and used to swear by the book which he 
supposed contained it all. 

“ And what’s sich a boy worth in the shop ? I ’ve 
tried ’em I I ’ve tried ’em I I don’t never want to 
try another I ” And Uncle Jasper cracked his joints 
till it would have made you nervous to hear him. 

He tried little Caleb, nevertheless, and little Caleb 
proved so good a boy to eat crusts, and so trusty a 
boy to do errands and attend in the shop, that Uncle 
Jasper not only changed his mind about the ruinous 
cost of keeping him, but became sincerely attached 
to him in a little while. 

Another thing pleased the old miser mightily. 
Caleb liked to read. Uncle Jasper, who traded a 
little in almost everything, — old bottles, old rags, 
and broken metals of all kinds, — also did a small 
business in second-hand books. He had two or three 
barrels of these, which Caleb dived into and over- 
hauled, until sometimes not much more than his legs 
could be seen sticking out of a barrel. 

The boy found plenty of books full of old-fashioned 
s’s which looked like f s, printed in so dull a style 
that he could not read them. But now and then, 
to his great joy, he fished up a Life of Peter the 
Great,” or a Robinson Crusoe,” which he devoured 
with an eagerness which delighted the old man. 

That boy will be a scholard ! He’ll be a doctor 
or a minister, by the Great Dictionary I ” exclaimed 
Uncle Jasper. And he liked to watch from his junk- 
shop of an evening young Caleb in the back room, 


176 YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS. 

reading by the light of a tallow candle, his pale, boy- 
ish features lighted up with intelligence and interest 
over a torn copy of Ivanhoe or History of 
Columbus.” 

The bottoms of the barrels were reached, and Caleb, 
having read all the attractive books, had got down 
to very poor fodder indeed, — he had even begun on 
the ^‘Elements of Political Economy,” — when, coming 
in one evening from doing some errand, he found a 
fresh pile of old books on the table in the back room. 

“ I thought of you, and I paid a price for them 
^ere books — I paid a price!” cried Uncle Jasper, 
cracking his fingers at the recollection. “ There’s 
lamin’ for ye. There’s food for the mind, thanks to 
your old uncle, if they do call him a miser. Suit ye, 
do they ? I thought so.” 

Caleb was now fourteen years old, and quite capa- 
ble of appreciating some of the best books in the 
language. 

“ Why, uncle,” he cried, here’s ^ Prescott’s Con- 
quest of Mexico ’ I and ^ Montaigne’s Essays ’ 1 and 
* Hallam’s History of England ’ I But isn’t it curi- 
ous,” he said, that such nice books should all have 
the covers torn off?” 

Don’t know nothin’ ’bout that,” replied Uncle 
Jasper. When I buys a thing, I jest pays what I 
thinks it’s worth, and axes no questions. I paid 
fifteen cents a volume for every one of them books, 
Caleb I ” 

Fifteen cents I ” said Caleb. Why, they would 


THE FORTUNES OF CALEB KEMP. 


177 


be worth at least two dollars a volume, if they only 
had covers on ! 

‘‘ Then they never ’d ’a come to my shop/’ replied 
Uncle Jasper, and you never ’d ’a had the readin’ 
on ’em. Readin’ is readin’, ain’t it, kivers or no 
kivers ? Well, then, you can jest thank your stars, 
and say nothin’.” 

But when Caleb came to examine the books, he 
felt inclined to say a great deal. Not only had they 
all been stripped of their covers, but every one had 
marks of previous ownership. 

Stamped on each title-page was a neatly engraved 
coat-of-arms — a rose in a shield — with a French 
motto over it, which he did not understand, and a 
name beneath, which interpreted the symbol. The 
name was Francis James Rosinshield. This stamp 
was also found on a fly-leaf of one of the volumes. 
From the others the corresponding fly-leaf had been 
torn out. In two or three of the books clumsy at- 
tempts had been made to erase it from the title. 

The examination led Caleb to believe that the 
books had all formerly belonged to a person named 
Francis James Rosinshield, and to wonder how they 
had ever found their way to an old junk-shop in that 
condition. 

Meanwhile he dived into Prescott’s romantic His- 
tory of the Mexican Conquest, which he found more 
interesting than any mere story-book. At every 
leisure moment he was at the book again, following 
the strange fortunes of Cortez and Montezuma. He 
12 


178 


YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS. 


was thus engaged in the back room two or three 
evenings later, when somebodj^ entering the shop 
attracted his attention. 

It was a tall, stooping, haggard-looking man, in a 
seedy black cloak. From under the cloak he took a 
bag, and from the bag he removed volume after vol- 
ume of books, all without covers, and laid them on 
old Jasper’s little black counter, until there was a 
pile of about two dozen. 

The two men talked together in low voices. The 
stranger seemed pleading for a larger price than 
Uncle Jasper was willing to give, while Uncle Jasper 
stood, with his miserly old features in a dreadful 
snarl, cracking his fingers and growling. 

At last a price seemed to be agreed upon ; the old 
man counted out a small sum of money, which the 
stranger clutched eagerly, and then, thrusting the 
empty bag under his cloak, hurried out, leaving 
the pile of books. 

Then the old man went lugging his prize into the 
back room, crying out, gleefully : 

More lamin’ fer ye, Caleb I Piles of knowledge ! 
piles of knowledge ! It’s expensive, but I thought 
of you, Caleb. Now pitch in ; cram your knowledge- 
box. I’ll make a scholard of you if I live, by the 
Great Dictionary 1 ” 

“ But, Uncle Jasper,” said Caleb, confused between 
his delight at receiving such treasures, and his mis- 
givings at finding the marks of Rosinshield’s owner- 
ship in these volumes also, “ I’m afraid something ain’t 


THE FORTUNES OF CALEB KEMP. 179 

riglit. Who is that man? How did he come by 
these books ? ’’ 

“ That’s more’n I can tell. And it’s none of our 
business,” said the old man. He sells the books, I 
buys the books, you reads the books ; what’s the use 
of goin’ further and axin’ questions about what don’t 
consam us ? ” 

But it does concern us if he gets the books dis- 
honestly,” cried Caleb. “ And I’m afraid he does ; 
they are all such nice books, all but the covers; 
and — see, uncle, all have this name in them I Now 
if he is Mr. Rosinshield, or if he has a right to sell 
Mr. Rosinshield’s books, why has he tried to scratch 
out the name in so many places ?” 

Uncle Jasper snarled his features and cracked his 
joints with a piteous expression. 

“ Never you mind, young man,” he said. Stow 
in the lamin’, but leave alone sich questions as them 
’air. It don’t do fer a man in my business to know 
too much about some things. If I keep ign’rant, then 
I keeps out of trouble. Now don’t, don’t, Caleb, no 
more. He has promised to bring some po’try next 
time, which he says is jest the thing to fill the chinks 
in your mind. Then he’s got some nice friction to 
top off with. I don’t know what friction is, but I 
told him I thought you’d like some, if it was cheap. 
Would, wouldn’t ye ? ” 

He means fiction , said Caleb ; adding, 0 yes, 
uncle, I want to read everything I I know how kind 


180 


YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS. 


you mean to be, but don’t, I beg, buy any more of 
his stolen books — for Pm sure they’re stolen.” 

’Sh, Caleb ! ” whispered the old man, turning 
pale. Don’t speak that word. You’ll get me into 
dijffikilty. I didn’t think you was goin’ to turn out 
sich an ongrateful boy, Caleb.” And the old man 
whiningly retreated to the front shop. 

Still Caleb was greatly troubled about the books, 
and when, a few mornings afterwards, he chanced 
to meet in the street a tall, stooping, haggard-faced 
man, in a seedy black cloak, he turned, looked at him 
twice very anxiously, and then followed him. 

The man took him a long walk, and finally mounted 
the steps of a fine large house in a fashionable part 
of the town. Caleb was several rods away, but he 
kept the house in sight, and walked slowly past it, 
shortly after the man had been admitted by a ser- 
vant. The boy felt a shock of something very much 
like fear when he saw the name of Rosinshield on a 
handsomely engraved silver plate over the door- 
bell. 

The man, he was sure, could not be the owner of 
the house, nor would the owner of a house like that 
be apt to sell ofi* his library of fine books stripped of 
their covers. Caleb knew that he must do something 
to warn him of the theft, and that was what made 
him afraid. 

He took all day and all the following night to think 
of it ; then, early the next forenoon, mounted the steps 
and rang the bell of Mr. Rosinshield’s house. 


THE FORTUNES OF CALEB KEMP. 


181 


“ Is Mr. Rosinshield at home ? he asked, timidly^ 
of the servant who opened the door to him. 

‘‘ Mr. Rosinshield is sick. He cannot see any- 
body, '' was the reply. 

It is something very important. I wish to see 
him about something which concerns him very much/’ 
Caleb insisted. 

It’s no use. Leave your errand and your address 
with me, and we will send for you when he can see 
you,” said the servant. 

Then Caleb took a folded slip of paper from his 
pocket. 

Please show him that,” said he f I will wait 
here.” 

The servant disappeared, and, returning in a little 
while, threw open the door. 

“ Walk in ; he will see you,” he said, and led 
Caleb through an elegant hall, up a broad staircase, 
and into a richly- curtained chamber, where a pale 
young man was lying in bed. 

The young man looked sharply at Caleb, then at a 
piece of paper which he held in his thin white fingers. 
It was a fly-leaf, on which was stamped the Rosin- 
shield coat-of-arms. 

“ Where did you get this ? ” said he, as Caleb stood, 
cap in hand, by the bedside. 

“ I should like to tell you, for it is something you 
ought to know,” replied Caleb. “ But I want you to 
promise me one favor.” 

Oh, yes,” said the young man, observing that the 


182 


YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS. 


boy was poorly clad. You want a reward. Every- 
body wants a reward. Very well, you shall have it, 
if your information is worth anything. This looks 
like a leaf from one of my books, and I’m curious to 
know how you came by it.” 

He listened to Caleb’s story with a look of sur~ 
prise, which gradually changed to one of pain and 
anger. 

Books from my shelves, probably, every one ! ” 
he exclaimed. “ But the person you describe is a 
poor man I employ to come and read to me, who is 
indebted to me for a thousand favors, and who can’t 
be guilty of such base ingratitude, I am sure. Touch 
that bell for me. Press down on the knob.” 

Caleb pressed the knob, and the sound of the bell 
brought a servant. 

‘‘Has Mr. Walburgh come?” Mr. Rosinshield 
asked. 

“ Not yet, sir.” 

“ When he arrives, ask him to remain below, and 
come and tell me. My dressing-robe ! ” 

“ You will not venture to get up, sir ! ” exclaimed 
the servant. 

“ My Turkish trousers and slippers I ” said Mr. 
Rosinshield. 

Hastily putting on the loose articles he called for, 
he dismissed the servant, and took Caleb into the 
adjoining room. It was a superbly furnished library, 
with alcoves of carved bookcases on the sides, busts 
of great men in the corners, and reading-chairs and 


THE FORTUNES OF CALEB KEMP. 183 

writing-tables at the ends, lighted by great win* 
dows. 

The sick man took from one of the desks a manu- 
script catalogue, turned the leaves rapidly, found the 
title, Mexico j Conquest of. W. H. Prescott f with 
the numbers indicating its place in the library, and 
went eagerly to one of the cases. Everything ap- 
peared in order. Not a book was missing. 

“ Quick I he cried impatiently to Caleb ; those 
steps I Set them here ! Mount ! Caleb climbed 
the steps. Second shelf from the top. Seventh 
book from the left hand.’’ 

“ History of the Conquest of Mexico. Volume First f 
said Caleb, reading the title on the back of the 
Turkey morocco binding. 

“ Yes, that’s it. Hand it down ! ” cried the sick man. 

But when Caleb went to take down the volume, it 
pinched up in his fingers, some wads of paper which 
had been stuffed into it fell out, and only the empty 
cover dangled in his hands. Rosinshield uttered a 
cry of wrath and dismay. 

The other two volumes I ” he said to Caleb. 

They were found in the same condition, as were 
also several other books which Caleb had named as 
being in his uncle’s possession. 

Satisfied at last, the owner made him put the 
covers all back in their places, while he sank down 
exhausted in a chair. 

“ You spoke of reading these books,” he then said 
to the boy. “ Are you fond of reading ? ” 


184 


YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS. 


“ Oh, very I ” replied Caleb. There^s nothing I 
like so well.’’ 

How many of my books do you say you have ? 

About fifty.’^ 

How many have you read ? ” 

I am reading the first one now.” 

Then what have you come to me for ? If I re- 
claim my books, as I certainly shall, you will lose the 
reading of them. Have you thought of that ? ” 

Caleb smiled. Oh, yes. I love the books ; but 
since they don’t belong to me, what else could 1 do ? ” 

I remember,” said Mr. Rosinshield, — you ex- 
pect a reward. What is it?” 

“ My uncle ” — stammered Caleb. 

“ He’s a villain 1 ” exclaimed the sick man ; a 
receiver of stolen goods, and I’ll have him punished.” 

Oh, sir, forgive him I ” Caleb pleaded. That’s 
the favor I was going to ask. He didn’t know the 
books were stolen, that is, he had no positive knowl- 
edge of it — although he suspected it. And, please 
consider, he did it all for me, — to make me happy 
and contented. Oh, you wouldn’t have him get into 
trouble on that account I ” 

This earnest and tearful appeal touched Mr. 
Rosinshield. 

“ Well, suppose I let him off. What other reward 
do you want ? ” 

No other reward, sir.” 

What, no money ? ” 

No, sir. I hadn’t thought of such a thing.” 


THE FORTUNES OF CALEB KEMP. 


185 


Just then the servant came to say that Mr. Wal- 
burgh was below. 

Send him up,’’ said Mr. Rosinshield. ‘‘ Boy, slip 
into that alcove, where you can see without being 
seen. If he is not the man you have described, come 
out and speak to me. If he is, keep quiet till I call 
you.” 

Caleb was hardly concealed when the reader en- 
tered. Although he was without his cloak, and 
Caleb caught only a glimpse of his side face before 
his back was turned, he recognized the tall, stooping 
form and worn features of the man who had sold the 
coverless books. 

Mr. Walburgh expressed some concern at seeing 
the sick man in his library. 

“ I am feeling stronger this morning,” Mr. Rosin- 
shield replied. We will proceed at once with our 
reading. I think I will try a little of ‘ Hallam’s His- 
tory.’ Please hand me the second volume, and I 
will point out the passage.” 

As this was one of the missing books, Caleb list- 
ened with anxious interest to hear what Mr. Walburgh 
would say. 

I fear,” said the reader, after some hesitation, 
that ^ Hallam’s’ is too heavy for an invalid like you. 
Let me recommend something more entertaining.” 

‘‘ Very well. Say ‘ Prescott’s Mexico.’ That splen- 
did description of the Battle of the Temple of the 
Sun.” 

There was an embarrassing pause, and Mr. Wal- 


186 


YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS. 


burgh's voice betrayed some agitation as he re- 
plied : 

That, I am afraid, would prove too exciting. 
You are in a more feeble condition than you think." 

You are quite right. Something quietly pleas- 
ing, then. Say ‘ Montaigne's Essays.' Please turn 
to that curious chapter on ^ The Inconsistency of our 
Actions,' at the beginning of the second book." 

That the invalid, in choosing from a library of sev- 
eral thousand volumes, should have hit upon three 
in succession of the fifty books that had been muti- 
lated, was a circumstance that might have alarmed a 
bolder thief than Walburgh. 

“ Excuse me," he stammered. “ Your ‘ Montaigne ' 
is in such fine type, I am afraid my eyes are not 
equal to it ; I have had such a dreadful night, watch- 
ing with my sick child." 

No matter, then. But hand me down the volume. 
I wish just to glance at it. The steps are there at 
the shelf. What's the matter, Mr. Walburgh ?" 

Let me go home to my wife and sick child ! I am 
sick myself to-day ! " said the wretched man. 

Oh, Mr. Walburgh, I should think you would be 
ill ! " said Mr. Bosinshield, in tones full of grief and 
indignation. I have discovered everything. You 
have been robbing my library. And for what? No 
sane man could have destroyed such valuable books 
for the paltry fifteen cents a volume you have got for 
them. Haven't I been loading you with benefits ? 
Where is the money I have given you for your 


THE FORTUNES OF CALEB KEMP. 187 

family ? The clothes to make you look more respec- 
table ? You have no sick child, Mr. Walburgh I ’’ 
No/^ the miserable man confessed, bowing his 
whole body in the most abject manner over his bent 
knees, and his shaking hands pressed together before 
him, — “I have no child now ; — she is dead, — dead 
from my neglect. My wife has left me, for worse 
cause. I am a wretch, Mr. Rosinshield ! The money 
you have given me I have gambled away, or spent 
for drink. The clothes you have given me I have 
pawned for the same purpose. Then, when I couldn’t 
ask you for more, or get money in any other way, I 
tore out the bodies of your books for that purpose. 
But, as you say, I am not a sane man. I have fallen 
into vice ; that has been my ruin. Forgive me and 
pity me, Mr. Kosinshield I ” 

The poor creature uttered these last words with 
a sob. 

“ I can forgive you and pity you,” replied the in- 
valid, with stern sorrow, “ but I cannot trust you. 
Go now. Come again when I have thought over 
your case, — say to-morrow at this hour. But first 
tell me where you have sold the books.” 

Th« second-hand booksellers wouldn’t have them, 
so I sold them at Kemp’s junk-shop.” 

Nowhere else ? ” 

Nowhere else.” 

Very well, Mr. Walburgh; you can go.’^ 

After the reader was gone, Mr. Kosinshield called 
Caleb from his alcove. 


188 


YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS. 


Are you a good reader ? he asked. 

I don’t know/’ replied Caleb, but 1 understand 
what I read.” 

Let me hear you read this paragraph in Thack- 
eray’s ‘ Newcomes.’ ” 

Caleb was taken too much by surprise to read 
very well. But the sick man said, “ That will do, 
considering the circumstances. A little instruction, 
which I can give you, will make you a good reader. 
Now, how would you like the situation?” 

What situation ? ” said Caleb, staring with be- 
wilderment. 

“ To come and read to me two or three hours a 
day, at a salary of eight dollars a week.” 

Eight — dollars — a week ! ” exclaimed Caleb, 
who had never thought of earning so much money. 

From what you say, and from what I can see,” 
continued Mr. Rosinshield, I know that you are an 
honest boy. Your uncle’s shop is no place for you. 
Come and live with me. Quit him altogether.” 

Oh, I couldn’t do that, after he has been so kind 
to me I ” said Caleb. 

Well, well ! Perhaps I can arrange it with him. 
You will come and read to me, any way ; he will 
consent to that for the pay and the other advantages 
3 mu will get. Now go and tell him to bring me those 
books.” 

Trembling with joy and fear, Caleb ran back to 
the junk-shop. Old Jasper cracked his knuckles 
frightfully at first, when the boy told his story, but 


THE FORTUNES OF CALEB KEMP. 


189 


afterwards loaded the books on a barrow, and trun- 
dled them up to Mr. Rosinshield's house. 

He returned in an hour, well satisfied, having got 
back the money he had paid Walburgh for the books, 
and made an arrangement by which Mr. Rosinshield 
was to take Caleb as a reader, and have charge of 
his education. 

Caleb was almost beside himself with happiness. 
He entered upon his new duties the next day. In a 
week he was living in Mr. Rosinshield’s house, and 
a far more comfortable career was opened to him 
than he could ever have enjoyed with his narrow- 
minded uncle in the old junk-shop. 

The gambler never showed his face again in the 
house of the man he had wronged ; and Mr. Rosin- 
shield, still anxious to do him good, inquired for him 
in vain. 

As for Caleb, he is now as fine a scholard ” as 
even his unscrupulous old uncle could desire. 


THE MISSING LETTERS, 

RICHARD BORDEN’S STORY. 


W HEN I was sixteen years old, I thought I was 
in a fair way to become rich and famous. 

My parents were poor, and I had been obliged to 
leave school in order to get my own living ; but by 
great good luck I had obtained a place in the law 
office of old Judge Peakerton, then the foremost 
member of our county bar. 

He was not only a successful lawyer, but a very 
liberal sort of person. He had already started two 
or three young men on the road to fortune, and to be 
a law-student in his good graces was to be sure of a 
career ; so at least people said, and I certainly be- 
lieved. 

But though a kind man, he was exacting. Busi- 
ness before everything else,’' was his motto. I was 
inclined to be wild in those days, and once I delayed 
delivering a message he had intrusted to me, when 
I had no other excuse for my neglect than that some 

190 


THE MISSING LETTEKS. 191 

young fellows had invited me to ride. He looked at 
me sternly. 

“ Young man/^ said he, “ don^t let a thing of this 
sort happen again as long as you are in my office. 
Fortunately no great harm has been done in this 
case, but as a matter of principle and good habits, 
I wish now, once for all, to impress it upon you, that 
if you mean to succeed, or if you mean to remain 
with me, stick to business, stick to business^ stick to 
BUSINESS I That’s all, Richard.” 

He was leaving the office, but when he got to the 
door he turned back. “ One word more,” he said. 

I like you, Richard, and what I say is for your 
good. You have talents and address, and are capa- 
ble of study and hard work ; but you are inclined 
to be indolent, and to let your love of ease and social 
pleasure interfere with your duties. That won’t do. 
There is a time for recreation ; but business is busi- 
ness. That’s the first lesson for a young man of your 
habits to learn and live up to.” 

“ I will try to learn it, sir,” I answered, frankly and 
earnestly ; for I knew my fault, and was really grate- 
ful to him for his kindness and good counsel. 

And I did apply myself after that as I had never 
done before. He was kinder than ever, and, boy that 
I was, he treated me with a great deal of confidence. 

He had at this time an important case coming to 
trial, — that of Gage versus Flamworth. Gage had 
furnished a friend of his, named Ireland, with large 
sums of money, to help him develop an improved 


192 


YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS. 


mill-wheel. From overwork in hia invention, and too 
much anxiety of mind, Ireland took a brain-fever and 
died, and the thing passed into the hands of Flam- 
worth, a miller, who had built a mill for the new 
wheel, and who claimed to have bought poor Ire- 
land’s patents. 

Gage claimed that these must have been sold — 
if sold at all — subject to a contract with him, by 
which he was to have half the profits of the inven- 
tion. But though he had memoranda of sums ad- 
vanced to Ireland, he had no written agreement to 
show, and the contract had to be proved by circum- 
stantial evidence. 

As the invention turned out to be valuable, Gage 
sued Flamworth, and the case had been some time 
in the courts. Peakerton was Gage’s counsel. Flam- 
worth’s lawyer was Ridgefield, a man of inferior 
ability, but notorious for the shrewd tricks by which 
he sometimes won a suit in the face of evidence and 
justice. 

The trial came on, and some pretty hard swearing 
on the part of Flamworth’s witnesses made the thing 
look rather dark for our side, when some important 
papers fell into Peakerton’s hands. 

One day after the court had adjourned, he came to 
me in the ofiice, looking rather excited for a cool- 
headed old practitioner like him. 

He took a package from his pocket. 

We have at last something we’ve been hunting 
for,” he said, with an air of triumph. Letters of 


THE MISSING LETTERS. 


193 


Ireland to his wife, in which he makes frequent 
allusion to his contract with Gage. But you see 
what a condition they are in, — badly written in the 
first place, and some of them worn almost to tatters 
since the poor woman must have carried them around 
with her until she died ; they turned up yesterday 
in an attic. I am afraid the other side has got a 
clue to our discovery, but it is too late to help them. 
Besides the evidence as to the contract, the letters 
are full of pathetic passages in which Ireland speaks 
of his eternal obligations to Gage.’^ 

Which will have a tremendous effect on a jury ! 

I exclaimed, full of enthusiasm over the discovery. 

I trust they will have their due influence,” he 
said, with a smile. Now, Richard, you see what is 
needed, — a clean copy of all of them. The poor, 
tattered, pathetic scrawls will do to hand round 
among the jurymen, but we must have an attested 
copy to handle and read. You are as quick at such 
work as anybody I know, and I think you can have 
it done by midnight.” 

If not,” I replied eagerly, “ I can work till morn- 
ing.” 

Very well. I put the letters into your hands. 
As people will be coming in here for an hour or two 
yet, perhaps you had iDetter take them home and 
copy them in the privacy of your own room. Re- 
member that the utmost care and secrecy are re- 
quired. Keep them safe, make the best copy you 
can, and bring them to me at my house the first 
13 


194 


YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS. 


thing in the morning, — at seven o’clock. Can 
you ? ” 

At seven o’clock it shall be,” I said, promptly, 
delighted with my commission. 

He then gave me some further instructions with 
regard to the copying, and, with the letters in my 
pocket, I hurried home to my boarding-house. 

It was then five o’clock. I set to work in great 
glee. The handwriting was not hard to decipher, 
and I made rapid progress. At supper-time I had 
some toast and a cup of chocolate brought up to me ; 
I nibbled and sipped, and scarcely lost a minute from 
my task. I had lighted my lamp ; the night was 
before me. 

The letters were very interesting ; they showed 
the enthusiastic inventor struggling against poverty 
and difficulty of all kinds, sometimes driven almost 
to despair, but full of faith in his ideas, of affection 
for his wife, and of gratitude to his friend. 

That friend was Gage. The contract was implied 
in every allusion to the money advanced by him, 
and all their transactions were honorable to both. 
I saw what an influence over the sympathies of a 
jury these letters would give a powerful pleader 
like Peakerton, and I felt that Gage’s cause was won. 
My love of justice made me glad of it, and my boyish 
vanity made me proud of my share in the work. 

At nine o’clock I found that I had copied more 
than two-thirds of all the letters. I felt tired, and 
got up and walked about my room. After a little 


THE MISSING LETTEES. 


195 


rest, one more sitting, I said to myself, would take 
me safely through my task before the clock struck 
twelve. 

Somebody knocked at my door. I packed the 
letters together before opening it, and then let in 
Bill Kneeland and Sylvester Bobbins. Kneeland 
was a fellow-boarder, and Robbins was a brother 
law-student. They were both older than I, and I 
was flattered by the friendship they professed for 
me. 

“ What are you up to at this time of night ? said 
Bobbins, seeing my copy and the pile of old letters 
on my table. 

Look here, Syl,” said I, laughing, don’t you ask 
any questions. It’s a singular case. I’ll tell you all 
about it some time.” 

As he glanced with curiosity towards the table, 
where my copy lay in the full glare of the lamp- 
light, 1 placed the paper in a drawer, and put the 
package of letters back into their wrapper. 

The fellows sat down and lighted their cigars, as 
if prepared for a long call. At length Kneeland pro- 
posed to walk. I felt the need of air and exercise, 
and thought this would be a good way to get rid of 
them. So I consented, left my copy in the drawer, 
slipped the package of letters again into my pocket, 
and went out, locking my door behind me. 

After we had been a little while in the street. Bob* 
bins proposed to pay that bet.” 

What bet ? ” I asked. 


196 


YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS. 


Oh,” said he, “ I bet a bottle of champagne with 
Bill that Juliet Yane wouldn’t go to the ball with 
him. Lost, of course. Come with us,'Dick, and see 
the bet paid.” 

Kneeland seconded the invitation. 

Can’t, boys, possibly,” I said. “ I’ve got to go 
back home and work till twelve o’clock.” 

You’ll do your work all the easier,” said Rob- 
bins. “ Come, we won’t keep you more than half an 
hour.” 

The mention of champagne had inflamed my thirst. 
I had been at work four hours at a stretch. Had I 
not earned a little refreshment ? and would I not, as 
he said, get through my work all the better for it ? 

“Well, go ahead, boys,” I replied; “ I’ll take just 
one glass with you, any way.” 

We entered a saloon. With the popping of the 
cork and the sparkling of the glasses, my spirits 
rose. Another acquaintance had joined us, and a 
game of euchre was proposed. At first I objected. 
But the cards were produced and shuffled. 

“ W ell, one game,” I said, thinking that if I finished 
my copying by one o’clock, or later, it would be just 
as well. 

After one game, we must have another. Then the 
rubber. Then another bottle of champagne, and 
more card-playing to see who should pay for that. 

I felt all the time that I ought not to be there, but 
reflected that I had still eight or nine hours to do 
work in that would take less than two. I might 


THE MISSING LETTERS. 197 

finish my copying and have yet some time for sleep, 
if I got home by midnight. 

I suppose I must have got home about that time, 
but I was in no condition for work. Everything 
whirled with me. There was then but one thing to 
do, — sleep first, and work afterwards. I tumbled 
upon my bed in my clothes, and forgot everything. 

The next thing I was aware of was a strong smell 
of lamp-smoke in the room. I started up. I had left 
the lamp burning, but it had gone out, leaving a 
foul wick and darkness. As I had supposed there 
was oil enough in it to last all night, you may well 
believe that I was frightened at the waste of time. 
In fact, daylight was glimmering through the slats 
of my window-blinds. 

I threw them open. It was not yet light enough 
to see distinctly anything in my room. I struck a 
match and held it to the face of my watch. It was 
twenty minutes past four o^clock. 

My wits seemed benumbed, and I had to rub my ' 
brows a moment before I could fully realize the 
situation. The papers were to be delivered to 
Judge Peakerton at seven. It would take me fifteen 
minutes to reach his house. Less than two hours 
and a half to finish the copying in, if I began it at 
once. But my wits brightened and my courage rose 
as I reflected. 

All right I I said. I can do it. I Ve had my 
sleep, and wakened just in time. Now for a lamp I ” 

I found one without much delay, and placed it. 


198 


YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS. 


lighted, on my table. Then — the letters. I remem- 
bered taking them with me, and feeling the package 
in my pocket from time to time as I was playing 
cards. I felt again. It was gone. 

It must have fallen out on the bed while I was 
asleep. I ran to look. I held the light. I searched 
bedclothes and floor. I nearly upset the lamp in my 
trepidation. No package ! I felt again in my pock- 
ets, and turned them inside out in my terror and 
despair. 

Then I hurried back to the table. Had I not 
taken the letters from my pocket on reaching home ? 
I could not distinctly remember, but it seemed to 
me that I had. I ransacked books and newspapers, 
all the time with such fear and sickness of heart as 
no words can express. 

I felt that I was ruined, and deserved to be. 

More than that : in losing the letters, I had prob- 
ably lost a cause for Peakerton and his client, who 
deserved something very different. For a moment 
I was half resolved to kill myself to avoid a difficulty 
I had not the courage to face. 

Where could I have lost the letters ? There was 
no means of knowing. Perhaps at the saloon ; per- 
haps in stumbling along the street. Or — a terrible 
suspicion flashed across my mind — perhaps they had 
been stolen ! 

Yes, I saw it all, or thought I did. It was one of 
Ridgefield’s tricks. Robbins was at the bottom of 
it. He had been employed to rob me of the letters, 


THE MISSING LETTERS. 


199 


and had got Kneeland to help him. I was confirmed 
in this suspicion by another discovery. My copy of 
a portion of the letters, which I had placed in the 
drawer, was also missing. 

Kneeland, as I have said, was a fellow-boarder. 
It was not many seconds before I was pounding at 
his door with a lamp in my hand, and fury in my 
heart. 

“ Who^s there? ” demanded a voice within. 

I ! Richard Borden 1 ” 1 answered. Let me in 
this instant I 

Bill complied ; and when he saw me with the light, 
standing before him, pale and haggard, stammering 
with fear and rage, and heard enough to understand 
what I had lost and what I suspected, he showed 
such honest sympathy and unaffected astonishment 
that I was forced to believe that he, at least, was in- 
nocent of the theft. 

And,^’ said he, “ I don’t believe Robbins had any- 
thing to do with it. He helped me take you to your 
room, and we left it together. I was with him all 
the time, and I didn’t see him touch any papers.” 

Somebody has touched them ! ” I exclaimed. 

Somebody, too, who was with me in my room, — 
or else there were two robbers, one who picked my 
pocket, and another who rifled my drawer when I 
was out.” 

“ Look again. I’ll go and help you look,” said 
Bill. 

He did. We searched every nook and corner — 


200 YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS. 

my table, the bed, the floor, every part of the room. 
The papers were certainly gone. 

I put on my hat. 

“ Where now ? ” Bill asked. 

I am going back over the ground we travelled 
last night to the saloon where we drank and played. 
Then I am going to find Robbins. If 1 am satisfied 
that he robbed me, he- shall restore the papers, or — 

I added a threat which seemed to make Bill feel 
uneasy. 

“ 111 go with you,’’ he said, “ though I’d give a 
thousand dollars to tumble back into bed and sleep 
off my headache I ” 

Burning with impatience, I waited for him to dress; 
and we hurried off together. 

It was in the gray of the morning. The streets 
were deserted, and there was a chill and desolation 
about them which struck to my heart. 

The echoes of our footsteps on the empty side- 
walks seemed to mock me. I had no hope of recov- 
ering the papers ; and I told Bill so, expecting that 
he would say something to encourage me. 

There isn’t a chance of it,” he replied, pausing 
on a street- corner. What’s the use of this wild- 
goose chase ? Let’s go back and go to bed I ” 

I’m going to find Robbins, any way ! ” I said, des- 
perately. And I’m bound to look for the papers, 
even if there is no chance of finding them.” 

There was nothing else to do, and in my torment 
of mind I could not have kept still. The search, 


THE MISSING LETTERS. 


201 


hopeless as it was, furnished me with occupation ; I 
felt as if I should have gone wild without it. So we 
kept on. 

It was now light enough to see distinctly any white 
object on the sidewalk or in the gutters, and we 
passed over the ground rapidly. 

We reached the saloon without having made any 
discoveries. There was a dim light burning within, 
but it was some time before we succeeded in rousing 
up the barkeeper. 

At last he appeared in his shirt-sleeves and dis- 
ordered hair, and we told him our errand. He ad- 
mitted us, and we searched. No package was to be 
found, and he could give us no information. 

The fellow^s unconcern was exasperating. He 
took no interest in the affair ; he yawned, waiting 
for us to clear out. While I was on fire with anxiety, 
all he cared for was to get back to his bed. 

Robbins lodged in a private house. Nobody seemed 
to be stirring in it when we reached the door and 
rang. 

“ This is absurd, calling on Syl before six in the 
morning,’^ said Kneeland, as we waited on the steps. 

He grinned dismally. Again and again we rang. 
I thought the bell would never be answered. The 
morning was raw and chill, and now a fine drizzling 
rain began to fall. Bill shivered and declared him- 
self sick of the business. 

If you were half as sick as I am, then you might 
talk,^^ I said, and gave the bell another furious pull. 


202 


YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS. 


At last the man of the house, very much unbut- 
toned and uncombed, came to the door, and regarded 
us with no little indignation when I asked for Rob- 
bins. 

Yes, he is in, I suppose,^’ he said ; “ but he don’t 
receive callers at this time of day.” 

‘‘ He will receive us,” I replied, for we come on 
very important business.” 

Still he seemed inclined to shut the door in our 
faces ; but he was a little man, and in spite of him 
I pressed in, followed by Kneeland. Yery unwill- 
ingly he showed us up a flight of stairs, and knocked 
at a door. 

There was no response. In my impatience I 
knocked after him, a good deal more effectively. 
There was an ill-natured growl within, a delay of a 
minute or two, which seemed to me half an hour, 
and Robbins, in trousers and dressing-gown, opened 
the door to us. 

‘‘ Why, fellows,” said he, staring at us by the 
bleak daylight that struggled through the curtains 
of his room, “ is it the end of the world? ” 

It’s the end of the world to me,” I replied, un- 
less you can help me.” 

What’s the row with you, Dick ? Sit down, fel- 
lows. Bill, what is it ? I never saw such a face on 
a human being ! ” Robbins added, glancing from me 
to Kneeland, and back again at me, with a show of 
astonishment which was very well acted indeed, if 
it wasn’t real. 


THE MISSING LETTERS. 


203 


has been robbed of the papers he was at 
work on last night/^ Kneeland explained ; and the 
truth is, he more than half suspects us of being the 
robbers.’’ 

“ Us ! — you and me I ” said Syl, with a puzzled 
look. Why should we want his papers ? ” 

He thinks we stole them for Ridgefield. They 
are papers in the Gage and Flamworth case,” Knee- 
land explained. 

Syl laughed outright. 

We have been stealing papers for Ridgefield I 
Come, Dick,” he said, this is a little too thin ! ” 

I had all the time been studying him as carefully 
as I could in my intensely excited state of mind, 
and now it struck me that if he had been a true and 
honest friend, he would have shown more sympathy 
for my misfortune, and less amusement at the ab- 
surdity of my suspicion. 

I had sunk down on his sofa. He sat on the bed 
facing me ; Kneeland stood resting one leg on a chair 
by the window, watching us. The whole picture of 
that wretched scene comes back to me now, and I 
remember how peaked and foxy Syl’s face looked as 
he peered at me from the big collar of his dressing- 
gown, under his tumbled hair, — how mean and des- 
picable his little sleek black mustache appeared to me 
then for the first time 1 

I had never had occasion to read his character 
before. I thought I read it now, — a sly, prying, 
crafty fellow, just fitted to be a tool in the hands of 


204 


YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS. 


the man who had an interest in getting possession 
of the papers I had lost. 

My mind was made up. Kneeland was innocent 
of the whole affair ; Robbins was the guilty one, and 
he had made use of Kneeland in carrying out his 
plans. 

I took time to consider what I should say, and then 
replied : 

I don’t mean to be unjust to anybody, but here 
are the facts of the case. I was engaged in copying 
papers when you and Bill came for me last evening. 
Long as I have known you, often as I have seen you, 
Syl Robbins, you never came for me before.” 

“ No, that’s a fact,” he admitted ; ‘‘ and I shouldn’t 
have gone to your room last evening, but I happened 
to be with Bill, and somehow your name was men- 
tioned — ” 

Who mentioned it first ? ” I demanded. 

Bill had already told me ; and now, after some 
little hesitation, Syl said : 

I don’t remember ; I rather think I remarked : 
^ Dick Borden has a room here in this house, hasn’t 
he?’ He said: ^ Yes, on this very floor. Would 
you like to see him ? ’ Of course I said I would ; 
for haven’t you and I always been good friends ? ” 

I didn’t much like the smile with which he ap- 
pealed to me as he said this. I did not smile in 
return. 

Well,” I went on, you came, found me at work, 
saw what kind of papers I had in hand, and got me 


THE MISSING LETTERS. 


205 


to go out with you. I took some of the papers in 
my pocket, and left one — a copy — in my drawer. 
You know what sort of a time we had, and the con- 
dition I went home in at midnight. You and Bill 
took me to my room.” 

Of course,” said Syl. You wouldn’t have us 
desert a chum in your situation, would yon ? That’s 
not our style, is it. Bill ? ” ’ 

“ I fell asleep,” I continued, and when I woke 
at twenty minutes past four this morning, the pack- 
age was gone from my pocket,, and the copy from 
my drawer.” 

Well, well ! ” said Syl, with a gleam of his sharp 
little eyes, ‘‘ you are making out a pretty strong 
case I I think, as a lawyer, I could work it up, and 
prove myself, as a man, guilty of the robbery. You 
might have lost the package from your pocket ; but 
then, there was the copy taken from your room ! That 
might have been stolen in your absence ; but then, 
there’s the lost package I ” 

It’s no laughing matter,” I said to him, with a 
look which must have been black enough if it ex- 
pressed what was in my heart. 

“ That’s so I ” he exclaimed ; and, to be serious, 
it’s preposterous, Dick ! I knew nothing about your 
papers. I know nothing about them now. I won’t 
deny but that 1 had a chance to steal them, but Bill 
must have seen me if 1 did : and Bill — look at him 
there. Is that the face of a rogue ? I never did 
any business for Ridgefield, and I wouldn’t do busi- 


206 


YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS. 


ness of that sort for anybody. I don't wonder, 
though, that you thought of us the first thing ; and 
now, if you fancy I have the papers, you are wel- 
come to search my premises. I’ll help you all I 
can.” 

‘‘ I don’t care to search your premises,” I replied, 
knowing that if he had stolen the papers, he would 
not have been so foolish as to place them where they 
could be found, and then invite me to find them. 

They are probably in Ridgefield’s hands by this 
time, whoever took them,” I added, despairingly; 

and if it will be any satisfaction to the thief to 
know it. Gage’s case is lost with them, and I am 
ruined.” 

Here my grief and despair completely overcame 
me, and instead of wreaking the vengeance on Rob- 
bins which I had threatened, I betrayed all my 
weakness in a violent fit of sobbing. I did not try 
to check it. I thought perhaps Robbins would pity 
me, and help me recover the papers, if he knew any- 
thing about them. 

Really, Dick,” he said, this is a hard place you 
are in. I am sorry for you.” 

I would sooner have had the rascal take my 
life ! ” I exclaimed. I can never face Peakerton 
again.” 

“ Well, no, I don’t see how you can, if the papers 
are as important as you say, and you lost them by 
going on that little spree last night,” said Robbins. 
“ But don’t be cut up by it. A smart young fellow 


THE MISSING LETTEKS. 


207 


like you needn’t be long out of a place. Let Peaker- 
ton slide, and go in for your chances somewhere 
else. Don’t you say so, Bill ? ” 

Kneeland shook his head. 

It will be hard for him to get in with another 
man like Peakerton,” he replied. 

“ Well, I suppose so. Then I’ll tell you what 
you’d better do. Go to him boldly with a made-up 
story. Tell him your room was broken into, — not 
while you were off on a spree, of course, but after 
you had fallen asleep over your work. You were 
awakened by a noise, lamp suddenly extinguished, 
violent scuffle with an unknown antagonist, who tore 
himself from your hands, knocked you down, and 
fled with the papers. You can give yourself a little 
knock, and show a torn and bloodied shirt-front, in 
corroboration. Ain’t that his cue. Bill ? ” 

Syl’s small bright eyes sparkled with lively cun- 
ning as he proposed this. I turned to Bill, who was 
more grave, but who answered like the bad friend 
and false counsellor he was. 

“ Keally, I don’t see but what he will have to lie 
to get out of the scrape.” 

I listened with -astonishment to these base sugges- 
tions. Such, then, were the friends I had cherished, 
for the sake of whose society I had neglected my 
trust, and risked disgrace and ruin ! 

I started up, and retorted with indignation ; 

Because I have been a fool, would you have me 
be a coward and a rascal ? ” 


208 


YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS. 


My suspicions of Robbins were fully confirmed, 
and I now more than half believed Bill to have been 
in league with him. Why not, since they were so 
ready to counsel me to base conduct ? It is safe to 
conclude that those who would have us act falsely 
are capable of acting falsely themselves. 

I left them in anger and disgust ; but their words 
had quite another effect on me from what might have 
been expected. They roused my manhood. I was 
revolted by the dishonorable proposal, and stung into 
forming a different resolution. 

It would not do to leave Judge Peakerton in igno- 
rance of what had occurred. The least I could do 
after losing the papers was to give him warning of 
the fact. I would go to him, confess everything, 
denounce myself, and accuse my false friends. 

It was now past six o^clock. I hurried home to 
make final search and inquiry, and get at some solu- 
tion of the mystery, if possible, before meeting the 
judge. 

I could learn nothing, except that a gentleman had 
called for me at about ten o’clock the evening be- 
fore, when I was out. He had gone away, however, 
without leaving his name. 

Hid he go to my room ? ” I asked. 

I went with him to your room, and tried the 
door,” said the housekeeper, but it was locked.” 

“ And you saw him go out of the house ? ” 

^^Yes; and nobody could have got in after that 
without a latch-key. The servants were all abed.” 


THE MISSING LETTERS. 


209 


This caller who did not leave his name might have 
been another spy of Ridgefield’s. But this was a 
mere conjecture, and it threw no light on the rob- 
bery. The boarders were not yet astir, and it would 
not do to go from room to room at that hour, ques- 
tioning them. Two or three appeared just as I was 
leaving the house, but they had seen no strange per- 
son in the halls the night before, except the young 
man who came to see Kneeland, and went out with 
Kneeland and me. 

‘‘ But I did hear some decided stumbling up-stairs 
at about midnight,” said one ; a point on which I did 
not care to elicit further information. 

I had now barely time to reach Peakerton’s house 
at seven o’clock, — the hour he had appointed for 
receiving the copied letters. I don’t know how it 
feels to have several pounds of melted lead in one’s 
bosom, but that’s what my heart seemed like ; it was 
so heavy, and yet so fiery hot, when I set out on my 
dreadful errand. 

It was raining still, — a cold, fine, dismal, pene- 
trating rain, but that did not cool my fever. 

I felt like a wretch going to the gallows ; but 
worse than that : he knows the fate before him ; his 
mind is made up to it ; he is at peace compared 
with a culprit like me, going to confess to a man like 
Peakerton the ruin I had brought upon his client’s 
honest cause. 

Only those who have been in a like situation will 
know just what I mean when I say that death would 
14 


210 YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS. 

have been welcome if it could have relieved me of 
that terrible necessity and saved me from disgrace. 

When I reached the house, I walked by, fearing 
to enter ; I wished to put off until the last moment 
the ordeal I was to go through. As I hesitated, sick, 
faint, undecided, I saw a man coming from the oppo- 
site direction. 

It was Fenholm, Peakerton’s youngest partner. 
The sight of him added to my misery. He was go- 
ing to the house ; he would witness my humiliation. 
But I reflected that he was a kind-hearted fellow ; he 
had always treated me well ; and the next moment, 
in my desperation, I resolved to tell him all. 

I went on to meet him. He saw by my looks that 
some calamity had occurred, and his friendly ques- 
tions helped me to make the confession. There, in 
the rainy street, in the early morning, standing under 
his umbrella, I told in a few words the story. 

He regarded me with grave concern. 

Ho you know,” said he, “ how long we have been 
trying to get on the track of those letters of Ireland 
to his wife, the time and money they have cost, and 
their importance in the case just at this time ? ” 

I knew all that only too well. 

‘‘ And Peakerton,” he added, is the most business- 
like and punctual man in the world himself; one who 
has a right to be exacting of others.” 

Yes,” I said, “ and I have no expectation that he 
will ever forgive me. After what he has said to me 
about my follies, — after all his kindness to me, — I 


THE MISSING LETTERS. 


211 


don’t deserve to be forgiven. But if you will tell 
him, and save me from that, let me go, and never 
see him again, — that’s all I ask.” 

“ That I can’t do,” he said. “ You must see him, 
but I will go with you, and make things as easy for 
you as I can.” 

We found Peakerton waiting in his library. He 
was always an early bird, and when he had a case in 
court, he would often be up at live in the morning, 
preparing for it. 

I did not dare look him in the face or speak. I 
waited, like the culprit I was, for Fenholm to speak 
for me. 

There was a cheery fire in the grate, and Fenholm 
sat down before it. But I hung back, and kept in 
shadow ; I did not feel that I had a right even to the 
comfort of a hearth. 

Everything right ? ” said Peakerton, turning in 
his chair and taking a package which Fenholm pro- 
duced from his pocket. 

I believe so,” Fenholm said. ** There are the 
originals. Here is the copy.” 

He opened a paper while Peakerton undid the 
package. 

I was astounded. I thought I must be in a dream. 
The package contained the stolen letters ; the other 
paper was the purloined copy. 

I started forward, and stood staring like an idiot. 
Luckily, the judge did not observe me. I could only 


212 


YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS. 


tremble, and gasp, and flush, and turn pale, and wait 
for explanations. 

Fenholm went on : 

As you requested, I walked round to Richard’s 
boarding-place last evening, to see if he needed 
help. I found he did. He had copied only about 
two-thirds of the letters ; it was getting late ; he 
was tired ; so I took them all home and finished the 
copy. Now we will go through them and see if it 
is correct.” 

“ Thank you, boys ! ” Peakerton said, with great 
satisfaction. Sit up to the fire here, Richard, and 
get warm. It’s a dreary day, but we’ll make it a 
cheery one for our client.” 

He gave me a look — how diflPerent from what I 
had expected ! He was overflowing with geniality. 
But he noticed my face. 

Are you well, Richard ? ” he asked, kindly. 

“ Oh, yes, very well 1 ” I stammered. “ Only a 
little blue with — with — ” 

I know,” he said. Up late, and up early ; an 
east wind, and you’ve had no breakfast. But busi- 
ness before everything, you know. We don’t often 
have a case like this. Now, Richard, take the copy 
and read it aloud, while Fenholm looks over the let- 
ters, and I listen for points with a pen in my hand. 
Wait a moment, though ; let me tell the cook to hurry 
up breakfast, and put on two extra plates.” 

It was an immense relief to me when he stepped 
out of the room for a minute. I was trembling from 





The Missing Letters. — Page 212 






THE MISSING LETTEBS. 


213 


head to foot. The ague was in my voice, and I 
couldn^t have read a line of the copy. I was con- 
sumed with anxiety. 

“ Fenholm I — I gasped out, inquiringly ; but my 
voice stuck in my throat, and I could not speak 
another word. 

“ Be quiet, he said, and you are saved. When 
I first called for you last evening, you were out. I 
waited a while in the street, walking up and down. 
You were gone so long, I knew that something was 
not right. I came again ; saw the light still shining 
through the blinds of your room ; entered with a 
boarder who had a latch-key ; found you asleep, or 
worse, on your bed ; you had not even locked your 
door ; and there was the package of letters on your 
table ! 

‘‘ I was indignant. I thought it would serve you 
right if I carried them ofi* with the copy which I 
found in the drawer. I did so ; and if you had not 
met me here, and appeared so contrite — 

Fenholm suddenly lowered his voice, for the judge 
was returning. 

Now it depends upon you,^^ he added, whether 
he ever knows of the adventure. I hope he never 
may ! ” 

I have only to add that Peakerton never did know 
of it until I had so thoroughly gained his esteem 
and confidence by my future conduct, that I could, 
with a free heart, tell him how near he came to losing 
Gage's cause, and why. 


214 


YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS. 


He gained it, of course, thanks to those miss- 
ing letters. And of course my suspicions of Rob- 
bins and Kneeland were unfounded. But I claim 
that I had good reason to suspect them, and if 
they grew cool towards me in consequence, I was 
not extremely sorry. The loss of such society 
was my gain. 


THE DOMINIFS WATCH. 


I T was Saturday afternoon, and Rust Aiken came 
to get Alfred Everett to go a-fishing. 

can’t go very well,” said Alfred, regretfully, 
looking at the pole on Rust’s shoulder, and the box 
of bait in his hand. I wish I could I ” 

“ Why can’t you ? ” said Rust. 

Oh, the dominie ’s away, and I’ve got to stay at 
home and look after things.” 

By the dominie Alfred meant old Mr. Whately, the 
minister. 

He would let you go, I know,” Rust insisted. 
Come, Alf ! get your fishpole. I’ve dug bait 
enough for both. What is there for you to look 
after ? The housekeeper ’s at home, isn’t she ? ” 
Yes,” said Alfred. But he expects me to hoe 
the garden this afternoon. He’ll look black if he 
comes home and finds the weeds all growing I ” 

Mr. Whately was a kind old man, but he was 
rather strict in his discipline of the orphan, to whom 

216 


216 


YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS. 


he was giving a home and an education. He ex- 
pected that the few duties which he imposed on 
Alfred would be faithfully done. 

Alfred was grateful; he felt that what was re- 
quired of him was but slight return for the bounty 
he received. But he was a boy, fond of fun, like 
other boys, and too easily diverted from his tasks by 
the pleasures of the moment. He looked ruefully 
at the garden, and again at RusUs fishpole, while 
Rust said: 

Y ou can hoe that little patch after you come 
back. Idl help you.’^ 

Do you mean it truly ? cried Alfred, brighten- 

ing. 

Of course, I do. LeUs see. It's about two hours’ 
work for you alone. Together we can do it in an 
hour. Now that's fair, ain't it ? " 

It certainly seemed very fair on the part of Rust. 

Well, agreed I " said Alfred, gayly. 

It did not occur to either of the boys that it would 
be better to do the work first, and go fishing after- 
wards. That is not boys' style. 

“ Come in while I change my clothes," Alfred said. 

And now, look here, Rust I You must promise to 
start for home with me by half-past four, so there '11 
be no mistake about the hoeing." 

“ Oh, the dominie isn't such a hard master that 
you need be so very particular," Rust carelessly 
replied. 

He isn’t a hard master at all," said Alfred. “ But 


THE DOMINIE’S WATCH. 


217 


he has his ideas of things ; and I dread to displease 
him. I’d rather never go a-fishing than see him 
come home again and look at that corn nnhoed, and 
then look at me, and say, ^ Your conduct, Alfred, is 
very discouraging, very discouraging ! ’ as he did 
a week ago.” 

That wasn’t much to say ! ” And Rust laughed 
again. 

It would have been very little for some men, but 
it was a good deal for him. I don’t think he would 
ever break out and scold, but if I should do anything 
very bad, after what he has done for me, he would 
lust turn me off — and serve me right ! ” said 
Alfred. 

That’s so 1 ” Rust replied, more seriously. He 
has done well by you, that’s a fact I ” 

‘‘ Where would I be now, if it hadn’t been for 
him ? ” Alfred went on. “ And what would become 
of me, if he should send me away? I should have 
to just give up school, and the easy time I have, and 
put my back right down to hard work. I think of 
that sometimes, when I get a little discontented, 
and it’s good for me.” 

It would be good for lots of us boys to think of 
such things rather more than we do,” said Rust. 
“ We’ll hoe that corn, any way. Rut how are we to 
know when it’s half-past four o’clock ? See here, 
Alfl where’s that watch? ” 

Hanging up in his room,” said Alfred. 

Why not take that ? ” 


218 


YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS. 


Take the dominie’s watch ! You’re crazj^ 
Rust ! ” 

Alfred looked horrified at the mere idea of such 
a thing. 

It was a valuable gold watch, which had been pre- 
sented to the minister by his friends in the parish ; and 
he prized it not only for its own sake, but for theirs. 

You had it at noon,” Rust urged. 

Yes ; it was left at the jeweller’s to be cleaned ; 
and the dominie wanted me to get it, so that he 
could have it to-morrow. He was gone off for the 
day when I brought it home, so I hung it up in the 
case over his mantelpiece.” 

Let’s see ! ” said Rust. 

Alfred, who was now dressed for the fishing, re- 
luctantly consented, and they entered the minister’s 
study. 

Splendid, ain’t it ? ” said Rust, taking the watch 
out of its case and looking at it. ^^And it’s just 
the thing for us this afternoon. What are you 
afraid of? ” 

Nothing — only — if anything should happen to 
it I ” said Alfred. 

How can anything happen to it ? ” Rust per- 
sisted. It’s just as safe in your pocket as it is in 
the dominie’s. Why not ? ” 

He carries it in his waistband pocket ; I haven’t 
any,” said Alfred. 

“ But you’ve a watch-pocket in your vest there I ” 
cried Rust, triumphantly. “ That’s superb I ” 







THE DOMINIE’S WATCH. 


219 


He placed the timepiece in Rust^s watch-pocket, 
and dropped the chain — which had a dangling seal 
in place of a hook — in the vest-pocket below it. 

‘‘ That’s the way I brought it home from the jew- 
eller’s,” said Alfred. “ He put it there himself.” 

Of course ; it’s as safe there as it could be any- 
where,” Rust rattled on. Now you’re a made man, 
Alf Everett I ‘ What’s the time of day ? ’ I says. 
And you hauls out your turnip, — ‘ Four o’clock, a 
little past ; almost time to be starting for home,’ you 
say, — large as life, and solemn as the old dominie 
himself. I’ll carry it if you’re afraid to.” 

“ No ; /’ll carry it, if anybody does.” 

And after a little more opposition, Alfred allowed 
himself to be persuaded. 

ic 'VV'e’re going over to the pond ; we’ll be back at 
five o’clock,” he called to the housekeeper, as they 
passed out through the shed, crossed the garden, 
and disappeared over the wall beyond. 

The pond, or rather lake, was a mile and a half 
away. It was nearly two o’clock when the boys 
reached it. 

We have been just twenty- three minutes and a 
half coming,” said Alfred, consulting the watch, and 
returning it with an air of importance to his pocket. 

“ Then, if we begin to wind up at half-past four,” 
said Rust, we shall have plenty of time to get back 
and begin the hoeing at five. Now don’t you see 
how nice it is to have a watch ? ” 

‘‘ Of course, it’s nice. I haven’t disputed that,” 


220 


YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS. 


said Alfred. Now let’s go to fishing as soon as we 
can^ for two hours and a half is little time enough.’' 

The lake lay in a hollow of the wooded hills, with 
a central depth said to extend as far beneath its sur- 
face as the highest peak rose above. It would have 
been a beautifully clear sheet of water, had the bot- 
tom been of clear sand or gravel. But decaying 
leaves and fallen trunks around the shores had for 
ages contributed to form a muddy sediment, into 
which a fishing-pole could in some places be thrust 
down half its length. 

The primeval forest still rose, mossy and shaggy 
and damp, from the western side. This was the best 
place for fishing, and there from the broad backs of 
two logs extending out into the water, the boys be- 
gan their sport. 

Yellow perch were the principal fish to be caught; 
and they began to bite at Rust’s hook almost as soon 
as he threw it in. But Alfred had no luck. 

“ Get out farther on your log,” cried Rust. You 
can. Go clear to the end of it.” 

Alfred followed this advice, but still he got no 
bites. Perch after perch came flapping and plashing 
out of the water, at the end of Rust’s line, while 
not one relieved the monotony of Alfred’s patient 
waiting. 

But all at once he had a bite. He pulled ; the fish 
pulled ; the pole bent ; the tense line cut the water. 

Rust heard his outcry, and saw the struggle. 

Gently I gently ! ” he shouted. “ Don’t break 


THE DOMINIE’S WATCH. 


221 


your pole I It’s a bass — and a whopper I There 
ho goes 1 Now don’t lose him I ” 

It was the biggest fish Alfred had ever hoisted. He 
was greatly excited. Once he had him completely 
out of the water, when the yielding of the pole let 
him plash back again. 

The hook and line still held, and he should have 
waited to tire the fish out ; but in his agitation he 
gave another sharp jerk. The pole bent nearly 
double. The line slipped from the end, and dropped 
into the water. Away went the fish. 

Alfred gave a cry of dismay, but a moment later he 
saw the line, dragged by the bass, running over a 
sunken limb a little below the surface. By throwing 
himself down upon the log and thrusting in his 
hand, he might reach it. There was no time to think 
of anything else. 

Down he went on his knees, and in went his hand, 
when suddenly, like a streak of yellow light, some- 
thing shot out of his bosom, and with a splash dis- 
appeared in the lake. 

What was that ? ” said Bust. 

Alfred, as he stooped, rested one hand on the log. 
He now drew the other up quickly out of the water, 
and clapped it to his breast. 

The watch ! ” he gasped out in a faint voice, 
raising himself on his knees. “ Oh, the watch I ” 

In his bent position it had slipped out of his 
pocket, and watch and chain and seal had gone to 
the bottom. 


222 


YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS. 


The fish was forgotten in an instant. Rust left his 
log, and came around to his friend’s assistance. 

Again and again Alfred felt his pockets and then 
looked down into the water, straining his eyes to 
catch a golden glimmer below ; but the sunshine on 
the rippling surface prevented his seeing anything 
so far down. The water, where the watch made its 
plunge, was about six feet deep. 

“ It was all your fault I ” said Alfred, in wild de- 
spair. ‘‘ You made me bring it, when I told you I 
didn’t want to ! ” 

But I never thought you were going to stand on 
your head and spill things out of your pockets that 
way I ” Rust replied. We can get it again, so don’t 
be a baby about it.” 

‘‘ The watch his friends gave him,” said Alfred. 
“ I’d rather have fallen in myself and got drowned. 
It has gone down in the mud twenty feet deep.” 

While he ran on in this way. Rust put his face close 
to the water, shaded his eyes, and searched the dark 
depths. In a little while he declared that he could 

see something.” 

Then Alfred looked again. By this time the sur- 
face had become still. 

I see it I I see it I ” he exclaimed. But how 
can we get it ? ” 

'' I am going to dive for it,” said Rust. ‘‘ I got 
you into the scrape, and I am going to help you out.” 

Rust was a better swimmer than Alfred, but diving 
was not his strong point. 


THE DOMINIE’S WATCH. 


223 


“ I don’t believe you can,” said Alfred, doubtfully. 
‘‘ Wait I Who is that coming through the woods? ” 
Lott Hammond and Dick Thorne,” said Eust. 

Oh, good ! ” said Alfred. Lott is the best diver 
in town. I’ve seen him throw a pebble into the mill- 
pond where it is fifteen feet deep, and go down and 
get it.” 

Eust laughed gleefully. 

‘‘We are in luck 1 Lott can get it if he will try; 
but he’s a queer fellow. Let me speak to him.” 

Lott was, in fact, one of the most athletic, lazy, 
adroit, sagacious, foolish young chaps in the whole 
county. There seemed to be nothing in the range 
of a rural youth’s powers which he did not know or 
could not do, but he had a strange aversion to any- 
thing useful ; so at twenty years of age, instead of 
being one of the rising young men of the village, 
Lott remained a loafer. 

Eust explained to him the situation, and asked him 
to dive for the watch. 

“ The dominie’s ? ” said Lott, with a chuckle. 
“ That’s a good joke I ” 

Alfred did not think it a good joke at all, but his 
need of Lott’s assistance kept him from saying so. 

Lott came out on the log, looked down in the wa- 
ter, and saw the faint glimmer of gold at the bottom. 

“ Easy enough to get that,” he said. 

“ Will you ? ” Alfred asked, with hopeful entreaty. 

“ I’ve been walking ; I’m too warm to go into tho 
water,” replied Lott. 


224 


YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS. 


You can come right out again; it won’t hurt 
70U,” said Rust. Alf and I will pay you.” 

We’ll give you a dollar if you’ll get it 1 ” cried 
Alfred, eagerly. 

But Lott shook his head. Although he had prob- 
ably not had a dollar in his pocket for six months, he 
could not be induced to risk his health by taking a 
single plunge. The more the boys pleaded the more 
stubborn he became, and finally he walked olff with 
his friend, laughing at the funny thing that had hap- 
pened to the dominie’s watch. 

He was never careful of his health before,” said 
Alfred, bitterly. If it had been a sixpence, and 
he could have had it to get a glass of beer with, 
he’d have gone in soon enough.” 

Now I am going in myself,” said Rust, begin- 
ning to undress. I’m sorry we said anything to 
him, for he and Dick will tell of it all over town.” 

He got his eye on the glimmer of light at the bot- 
tom, and dived from the log. Alfred waited with the 
utmost anxiety to see him come up again. In a few 
seconds Rust returned to the surface with something 
grasped in his right hand. 

It was nothing but mud. 

Once more Alfred was in despair. The bottom had 
been so stirred up that it would take a long time for 
the water to settle and become clear. Perhaps even 
then the watch would be buried from sight. 

I tried to keep my eyes open,” said Rust, but 


THE DOMINIE’S WATCH. 


225 


as soon as I struck the water I couldn^t see a thing. 
I’m sure I felt it, and I thought I had it.” 

^^We can’t get it now, any way,” said Alfred. 

See how muddy the water is.” 

That don’t make any difference,” Rust replied. 

If I can’t see, I can feel. I’m going to dive again, 
and keep diving till I get it.” 

Again and again he plunged, and brought up noth- 
ing but mud and rotten sticks. 

At length this became so common a thing with 
him that he had ceased to expect anything else. He 
would come to the surface and let the mud slip out 
of his fingers almost before he got his dripping eyes 
open. 

It’s no use,” said Alfred. The watch is down 
in the mud now where nobody can find it. Don’t 
try any more.” 

What sort of a story shall we tell the dominie ? ” 
said Rust, now quite discouraged, as he sat on the 
log to rest. 

I don’t know. I’d rather die than meet him I ” 
said poor Alfred, ruefully. 

Tell him you carried home the watch from the 
village, and as he was gone, you were afraid to leave 
it in the house, so you kept it in your pocket, just 
where the jeweller put it.” 

No, no, I can’t lie to him ! ” said Alfred. “ I shall 
have to tell him the truth if I tell him anything. Oh, 
Rust, you’ve got me into an awful scrape ! ” 

Well, don’t I know it? and ain’t I trying to get 

15 


226 


YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS. 


you out of it? Vve been diving for you, and now 
I^m inventing lies for you, — doing the very best I 
can, ain’t I ? ” 

“ Lying won’t help it, any way,” said Alfred. 

Well, then. I’ll dive again.” 

And once more — this time with a fully recovered 
breath — Rust made a journey to the bottom. 

He came to the surface, opened his fingers to let 
the mud out, and — 

Oh, the watch ! ” shrieked Alfred. 

Something yellow and bright as gold had, in fact, 
slipped out with the mud and gone again to the 
bottom. 

It happened curiously enough. When Rust came 
up from his first plunge, and thought he had the 
watch, he did not have it. So now, when he came 
up from his last, and thought he did not have it, he 
had it, and it was lost again before he could wink 
the water out of his eyes. 

‘‘ Are you sure you saw it ? ” he asked Alfred. 

“ Oh, I know it ! ” Alfred exclaimed. Why didn’t 
you hold on to it ? ” 

Rust was hugely chagrined. He was for diving 
again immediately, but Alfred said : 

No ; it is out of the mud now, and you might 
bury it again. Wait till the water settles.” 

Rust was obliged to admit that this was good ad- 
vice, and after arguing some time against it, he put 
on his clothes. 

But with so much at stake, it was distressing to 


THE DOMINIE’S WATCH. 


227 


wait there for the water slowly to become clear once 
more. Quite useless, too, it seemed, for after all their 
anxious watching, even when the lake had grown 
tranquil and clear, they strained their eyes in vain 
looking down into the dim depths. 

No watch was to be seen. 

Still the boys remained on the log, unwilling to 
give up and go away. 

What time do you suppose it is ? ” Rust inquired. 

I don’t know,” muttered Alfred, despairingly. 
‘^We brought the watch; now what good does it 
do us?” 

“ Of course it doesn’t do us any good, in the mud 
down there I ” said Rust. 

That garden won’t get hoed I ” again Alfred mut- 
tered. “ It must be five o’clock already.” 

“ Who cares for the garden, if we can only get the 
watch I ” said Rust, taking another long look down 
into the water. 

“ Get it ! ” Alfred exclaimed, with bitter irony. 

The shadow of those trees will be here in a few 
minutes ; that will darken the water so we canT 
see anything.” 

Slowly the cool shade of the mossy woods was 
creeping towards them. The deeper shades of night 
would soon be coming on. It was a dismal prospect 
to the two boys. Suddenly Rust exclaimed : 

I’ve an idea I ” 

“ What is it ? ” Alfred asked, with a faint renewal 
of hope. 


228 


YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS. 


Uncle Soper^s scoop-net ! It has got a handle 
ten feet long. We can reach down with it, and 
scoop up that watch without half trying.'^ 

Yes ! cried Alfred, catching eagerly at the idea. 
« Why didn’t we think of the scoop-net? We can 
dip up any quantity of mud, and sift and wash it, till 
we find the watch.” 

Let’s go for it ! ” said Rust, already on his feet. 

But it won’t do for us both to go away,” Alfred 
objected. 

Why not ? ” 

I’m afraid of Lott Hammond. He wouldn’t dive 
and get the watch for us ; and I know the reason. 
After we give it up, he means to come back and get 
it for himself.” 

“ I don’t believe that,” said Rust. But if you’re 
afraid, I’ll stay, while you go for the net.” 

“ I won’t be gone long ! ” cried Alfred ; and off he 
ran in high hope. 

He was, however, gone much longer than he ex' 
pected. When he reached Uncle Soper’s house, the 
old man was absent, and the women folks knew 
nothing about the net. 

Then Alfred remembered that Sam Crookes had 
one. But he lived a mile away. The boy was in 
great perplexity for a minute ; then off he started 
to find Sam Crookes. 

Sam was at home. But the net was in much the 
same condition as everything else about him. He 
was a shiftless fellow ; and it was provoking to see 


THE DOMINIE’S WATCH. 


229 


him hitch up his trousers, turn his quid, and scratch 
his rough red head, before he answered the boy’s 
question. 

That ’air net,” said he at last. Lemme see ! 
Either the net part got tore out, or the hoop got lost; 
or the handle broke — or all three — or else I lent it 
to somebody. Oh, I remember ! it’s tucked up 
over the woodshed there now; but ’tain’t good for 
nothing.” 

After a good deal of delay, which proved a severe 
trial to the boy’s patience, Sam brought down the 
ruins of the ancient net ; for only ruins were left of 
it, and they were past repair. 

Uncle Soper has got a first-rate net ; why don’t 
you borrow his’n ? ” said Sam. 

Alfred told how he had tried to, and failed. 

Wa’n’t to home ? Of course, he wa’n’t to home, 
now I think on’t,” said Sam. “ Uncle Soper ’s down 
to the mill ; or he was, half an hour ago.” 

Then Alfred started off on a chase after Uncle 
Soper. At last he tracked him to a grocery in the 
village. 

“ My net ? ” said the old man, who was uncle to 
everybody. Lott Hammond has got it ; I lent it 
to him a month ago.” 

Alfred was sorry to hear that. He had already lost 
so much time that he could not well afford to lose 
more by hunting up Lott. He explained the situation 
to the old man, who readily offered to go with him. 

I guess we can find the net, and get the watch 


230 YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS. 

with it/^ said Uncle Soper. I’d heard about your 
losing it.” 

How kind he seemed I How the poor boy’s hopes 
clung to him, as they walked along ! 

But the old man was rheumatic, and it seemed to 
the impatient Alfred that he trudged at a snail’s pace. 
Evening was approaching. The shadows of the 
forest must have stretched far out over the lake by 
that time ; and the boy was afraid Rust would get 
tired of waiting for him, and go away. 

As he walked with the old man through the vil- 
lage, he had to run the gauntlet of questions from a 
score of people. Boys ran after him ; men stopped 
and turned ; and shopkeepers stood in their doors to 
hear what he had to say on the exciting topic. For 
Lott Hammond and Dick Thorne had reported the 
news of his misfortune, and it had spread over half 
the town by this time. 

Did ye find the watch ?” “ How did ye lose it?” 
“ Why didn’t ye dive for it ? ” Where’s the domi- 
nie ? ” “ Was it his best watch — the one the parish 

gave him ? ” 

Heated with running, still more flushed with ex- 
citement, anxious, angry, ashamed, Alfred had to face 
these people and answer their terrible inquiries. He 
was glad enough when he was once more out of the 
village, with nobody to talk to him but the slow- 
jogging old man. 

Lott Hammond was not at home. But the net was 
found, to Alfred’s great joy. And now, feeling certain 


THE DOMINIE’S WATCH. 


231 


that the watch could be recovered before dark, he 
once more started for the lake, with the old man at 
his side. 

This long delay, however, proved the cause of dis- 
appointment and trouble. When Alfred, running on 
ahead, reached the woods and the log where he had 
left Rust keeping guard. Rust was not there. Alf 
shouted his name, but no Rust replied. 

He has gone off! Alfred exclaimed, resentfully. 

Gone to supper, may be,’’ said the old man, 
coming up. Can’t blame him. Show me the spot 
where ye lost the watch, and I’m bound to — 
What’s this ? ” 

Something flapped on the moss at the old man’s 
feet. It was a fish. 

“ A bass I and about the biggest one I ever see 
took out of this pond 1 ” said Uncle Soper. Who 
ketched him ? ” 

It must be the one I hooked,” replied Alfred. 
“ Yes, there’s the line he dragged off from my pole, 
with the hook still in his mouth. But how did he 
ever get out of the water ? ” 

It was a puzzling mystery, but a trifle, compared 
with the more important business in hand. 

We’ll ketch a goldfish for ye that ’ll beat that 1 ” 
chuckled the old man. 

Alfred pointed out the spot where the watch had 
gone down. Still nothing of it was to be seen. 
The old man put down the scoop carefully, and 
brought it up half filled with mud and sticks. 


232 YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS. 

“ No watch 1 Alfred was the first to exclaim, as 
they sifted out the mud and threw out the sticks on 
the other side of the log. 

“ Try again/’ said Uncle Soper, still confident. 

And having washed the net, he made another dip. 

Still no watch. 

A third and a fourth time the net was thrust down, 
moved along the bottom, and hauled up with its un- 
satisfactory contents. 

Yer big fish must have swallowed yer watch,” 
at last the old man suggested. I’ve heard of such 
things.” 

That can’t be,” said Alfred ; for he was hooked 
when I lost it.” 

‘‘ Wal, if he didn’t, then it’s my opinion some other 
fish has got it; for I’ll bet a dollar there ain’t no 
watch anywheres in the mud I’ve been sarchin’ with 
. the net.” And the old man added, turning to walk 
back on the log : I’m agoin’ to cut him open, any 
way.” 

Alfred had not much hope of seeing the watch pro- 
duced by this process, and he was not disappointed. 
The bass was tried for the theft, and found not 
guilty. 

Then, after a few more attempts with the net, 
Uncle Soper exclaimed: 

No use ! You may keep on tryin’ if you want 
tew, but I've got through, and I’m agoin’ hum.” 

Alfred made a few feeble and hopeless efforts to 
recover the lost treasure; but it was now growing 


THE DOMINIE’S WATCH. 


233 


dark, and at length, in utter despair of heart, he 
consented to go with the old man. 

What ’ll ye dew with the fish?” Uncle Soper 
inquired. 

I don’t care for any fish,” said the poor boy, with 
a sob. ‘‘ You may have him, if you want him.” 

Of course I want him, if you don’t.” 

And, cutting a hooked stick, the old man strung 
the bass upon it, carrying him away in triumph. He, 
for one, was pretty well satisfied with the result of 
the adventure. Though ’tis a mighty pity ’bout 
that watch I ” he said, sympathizingly, as he trudged 
back from the lake with the broken-hearted boy. 

Alfred carried the net, and soon he parted company 
"with Uncle Soper, declaring that he would return in 
the morning and find the watch, if he had to scoop 
out half the mud in the pond. 

Wal, if ye dew that, and ketch and cut open all 
the big fish, ye may find it,” replied the old man ; 
but it’s a big job you’ve got afore ye.” 

Alfred hastened to find Rust, and learned that he 
had brought home his string of perch an hour before, 
but liad gone off again. 

Alfred walked miserably on to the dominie’s house, 
but he did not have the courage to go in. He stood 
by the door, sick at heart and irresolute. 

“ What shall I do ? ” he said, desperately, to him- 
self. How can I stay and face him ? ” 

While he was reflecting, or trying to reflect, the 
sound of wheels startled him. A wagon was coming 


234 


YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS. 


up the road. It appeared in the deepening dusk, 
and turned up at the gate. 

Whoa ! ” said a voice which struck terror to the 
boy’s soul. 

The dominie had come home. 

Alfred ’s first impulse was to run away ; but he 
could not; somehow he could do only what was 
always expected of him at such times. He went and 
opened the gate. 

The dominie spoke to him kindly as he drove 
through, dismounted at the door, and left the boy to 
take care of the horse. 

Alfred was a long time about that trifling task, and 
he might have remained half the night in the barn, 
or tucked somewhere else out of sight, if the house- 
keeper had not called him. Mr. Whately wants 
you to come in ! ” she cried out from the door. 

‘‘ He has heard,” thought Alfred. Now he is 
going to call me to an account. I wish I was dead !” 
But he went in. 

To his surprise, the dominie again spoke to him 
kindly, asked him why he had not already eaten his 
supper, and desired him to sit down and eat with him. 

I hope you haven’t been so hard at work in the 
garden that you’ve forgotten your appetite,” said 
Mr. Whately, drawing up his chair to the well-lighted, 
cheerful table. I never want you to work hard, 
you know that, Alfred.” 

He paused and looked at the boy, who stood be- 
fore him, haggard and trembling. 


THE DOMINIE’S WATCH. 


235 


Why, what’s the matter, Alfred ? ” 

I — haven’t — worked — in the garden,” Alfred 
confessed, chokingly. 

You’ve left those weeds another week ? ” said the 
dominie, sternly. I trust you have some good rea- 
son for it, Alfred. 

“ No, sir,” said Alfred, struggling to keep up. 
“I’ve no reason, — only — a bad one. Oh, sir I” 

And out came the whole story, amid bursting sobs 
and tears. 

The old gentleman, who had begun his supper, 
dropped his knife with a look of consternation. 

“ You’ve lost my watch, and can’t find it ! ” he 
exclaimed, with more anger than the boy had ever 
seen him betray before. “ What business had you 
with my watch ? ” 

“ I had no business with it,” Alfred humbly ad- 
mitted. “ I ought not to have taken it. I’ve tried 
my best to find it, and I’m going to try again. I 
hope I can get it.” 

“ No, you don’t hope anything of the sort,” said 
the dominie. “ I see by your looks that you’ve no 
idea it can be found. The watch my friends gave 
me ! Oh, Alfred, what shall I — ” 

He checked himself. His features were contracted 
with pain, and there was a long inward struggle, 
more terrible than words to poor Alfred. 

“ You will send me away, of course,” said the boy. 
“ I deserve it. I have repaid your kindness in a bad, 
ungrateful way ; but say you forgive me, and I will 


236 


YOUNG JOE AND OTHEK BOYS. 


go off somewhere and work till I have paid for that 
watch, or bought a new one, if it takes all my life ! 

The struggle in the good man’s breast was over by 
this time. 

Alfred,” he said, with kindly emotion, come 
here.” 

But at that moment Bust Aiken burst into the 
room. 

Alf, come out,” he whispered, drawing back at 
sight of the minister. It’s all right I ” 

What’s all right ? ” Alfred wonderingly inquired. 

The watch 1 ” said Rust, with joyfully gleaming 
eyes. 

The watch,” Alfred exclaimed, springing wildly 
towards him. 

Yes. I’ve been hunting everywhere for you. 
I’ve been here once before.” 

“ Have you indeed got my watch ? ” Mr. Whately 
demanded, making Rust come into the room. 

Yes, sir, — no, sir, — I mean,” Rust stammered 
in his excitement. I’ll tell you about it.” 

Tell me, then, and be brief,” said the dominie. 

Alf left me to stand guard while he went for the 
net,” began Rust, and I thought he never would 
come back ; but,” turning to Alfred, if you’ll believe 
it, the shadow of the trees we were afraid of had just 
the opposite effect from what we expected. The 
glimmer was gone from the surface ; the little float- 
ing particles down in the water no longer had the 
sun to light them up, and I could see — ” 


THE DOMINIE’S WATCH. 


237 


The watch I ” broke in Alfred, trembling now in 
pt perfect ague-fit of joy. 

Not a bit of it,’’ said Rust, only just one little 
link of the chain, and that was partly hidden by 
atoms of mud that had settled on it.” 

“ And you dived for it ? ” 

“ No, sir j I’d had fun enough diving.” 

Then how did you get it ? ” 

I took your fish-pole, bound a hook fast to the end 
of it with a piece of my line, and — ” 

“ And hooked up the watch 1 ” said Alfred. 

Not exactly,” said Rust. It wasn’t so easy a 
thing as you imagine. You see, sir,” — Rust ad- 
dressed himself to the minister, who was listening 
with deep interest, — after I got the pole into the 
water, with the hook on it, I couldn’t see it, for it was 
dark-colored, and didn’t shine like the gold chain.” 

You couldn’t tell when the hook approached the 
link ? ” said Mr. Whately. 

No, sir ; and of course there was danger of 
stirring up the mud while I wa^ reaching for it. 
So what did I do but wrap my handkerchief around 
the end of the pole close to the hook. I could see 
that. Then I put the hook down — down — and 
touched something. 

‘^The water was muddied in a moment,” Rust 
went on. I couldn’t see any more gold, but I had 
hooked something. And oh, didn’t I lift carefully ? 
and wasn’t my heart in my throat? and didn’t I 
tremble for fear the hook would pull out, or the thing 


238 


YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS. 


I had caught would somehow get off again ? But at 
last I could see it, watch-chain, seal, and all, hanging 
by a single link I The next minute I had it in my 
hands, and — didn’t you hear me shout ? You might 
have heard me a mile I ” 

‘‘ And where is the watch now ? ” Mr. Whately 
asked. 

When I took it out and opened it, — the hunter’s 
case, you understand,” — said Bust, it was going ; 
but it muvst have been about two hours slow, so I knew 
some water had got into the works. That, of course, 
was to be attended to the first thing. I carried my 
fish home, hoping I should meet Alf on the way, and 
then went to the jeweller’s as fast as I could with the 
watch. There it is now, and he says it won’t be 
hurt at all.” 

You have done well, Bust,” said the minister ; 
^‘you have fully atoned for the share you had in 
causing the accident.” 

And I hope you forgive Alfred, too,” said Bust. 

It was really my fault that he took the watch to 
the lake.” 

I had already forgiven him in my heart,” said 
the old gentleman, before you came in and said the 
watch was found. When I saw how truly humble 
and penitent he was, I must have forgiven him, even 
if the loss had been ten times as great.” 

Oh, Mr. Whately ! ” Alfred sobbed out, as he hid 
his face on the kind old man’s shoulder. 

I see now why you didn’t hoe the garden,” Mr. 


THE DOMINIE’S WATCH. 


239 


Wbately continued, putting his arm affectionately 
around Alfred. “ And I forgive that, too. Yes, and 
I am thankful that you did not try to shirk the re- 
sponsibility for your conduct by any falsehood or 
evasion.’^ 

Bust looked down. The dominie proceeded, still 
caressing Alfred with his hand. 

“ And now let this be a lesson to you both, — not 
to postpone your duties for self-gratification, but to 
attend cheerfully and faithfully to your duties first ; 
and don^t take liberties with other people’s property. 
Borrowing in that reckless way is often a sure and 
straight road to ruin. Even this little thing might 
have proved your ruin, Alfred. Let us be thankful 
it is no worse.” 

I am thankful,” said Alfred, looking up. I be- 
lieve I was never so happy in my life.” 

“ There ’s another thing for you to be proud of,” 
said Rust. You’ve got the biggest bass over there 
at the lake that was ever caught out of it. He was 
so heavy I wouldn’t lug him away.” 

I gave him to Uncle Soper,” said Alfred. But 
how did you get him ? ” 

Why, you see,” said Rust, when I grabbed the 
watch, I just threw the pole off, and the end went 
down into the water. Then, after I had been crazy 
over my luck for a minute or two, I thought of my 
handkerchief ; but when I took up the pole, I found 
the hook in the end had caught something down by 
the tops of the fallen tree. It was your line ; and 


240 


YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS, 


when I got hold of that, I found your big fish at the 
other end of it.^^ 

“ If that wasn’t luck I ” exclaimed Alfred. Well, 
I’m glad Uncle Soper has got pay for his trouble ; 
but, as he said, our best fish is the goldfish. Oh, to 
think how we scooped up mud there to find it, and 
you had it all the time I ” 

Well, boys,” said Mr. Whately, smiling be- 
nignly, “ you have had rather a lucky day, after 
all ; and I think neither of you will ever forget your 
adventure with the dominie’s watch.” 


BERT’S THANKSGIVING. 


T noon, on a dreary November day, a lonesome 



AL little fellow, looking very red about the ears 
and very blue about the mouth, stood, kicking his 
heels, at the door of a cheap eating-house in Boston, 
and offering a solitary copy of a. morning paper for 
sale to the people passing. 

But there were really not many people passing, 
for it was Thanksgiving day, and the shops were 
shut, and everybody who had a home to go to, and a 
dinner to eat, seemed to have gone home to eat that 
dinner, while Bert Hampton, the newsboy, stood 
trying in vain to sell the last Extry left on his 
hands by the dull business of the morning. 

An old man, with a face that looked pinched, and 
who was dressed in a seedy black coat and a much- 
battered stovepipe hat, stopped at the same door- 
way, and with one hand on the latch, appeared to 
hesitate between hunger and a sense of poverty 
before going in. 


16 


241 


242 


YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS. 


It was possible, however, that he was considering 
whether he could afford himself the indulgence of 
a morning paper (seeing it was Thanksgiving day) ; 
so, at least, Bert thought, and accosted him accord* 

ingly- 

“ Buy a paper, sir ? All about the fire in East 
Boston, and arrest of safe-burglars in Springfield. 
Only two cents.'' 

The little old man looked at the boy with keen 
gray eyes which seemed to light up the pinched and 
skinny face, and answered in a shrill voice that 
whistled through white front teeth : 

You ought to come down in your price this time 
of day. You can't expect to sell a morning paper 
at twelve o'clock for full price." 

Well, give me a cent, then," said Bert. “ That's 
less 'n cost : but never mind ; I'm bound to sell out, 
anyhow." 

“ You look cold," said the old man. 

Cold I " replied Bert ; I'm froze. And I want 
my dinner. And I'm going to have a big dinnef, 
too, seeing it's Thanksgiving day." 

“ Ah ! lucky for you, my boy I " said the old man. 

You've a home to go to, and friends too, I 
nope? " 

No, sir ; nary home, and nary friend, — only my 
mother," — Bert hesitated, and grew serious ; then 
suddenly changed his tone, — and Hop Houghton. 
I told him to meet me here, and we’d have a first- 
rate Thanksgiving dinner together; for it's no fun 


BERT’S THANKSGIVING. 


243 


to be eatiii^ alone Thanksgiving day ! It sets a 
feller thinking of everything, if he ever had a home 
and then haiiiT got a home any more.’^ 

“ It’s more lonesome not to eat at all,” said the old 
man, his gray eyes twinkling. ^‘And what can a 
boy like you have to think of? Here, I guess I can 
find one cent for you — though there ’s nothing in 
the paper, I know.” 

The old man spoke with some feeling, his fingers 
trembled, and somehow he dropped two cents in- 
stead of one into Bert’s hand. 

Here I You’ve made a mistake ! ” cried Bert. 
“ A bargain ’s a bargain. You’ve given me a cent 
too much.” 

No, I didn’t. I never give anybody a cent too 
much.” 

But, see here ! ” And Bert showed the two 
cents, offering to return one. 

No matter,” said the old man ; it will be so 
much less for my dinner, that’s all.” 

Bert had instinctively pocketed the pennies, when, 
on a moment’s reflection, his sympathies were ex- 
cited. 

‘^Poor old man 1 ” he thought; “ he’s seen better 
days, I guess. Perhaps he’s no home. A boy like 
me can stand it, but I guess it must be hard for him. 
He meant to give me the odd cent all the while ; 
and I don’t believe he has had a decent dinner for 
many a day.” 

All this, which I have been obliged to write out 


244 


YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS. 


slowly in words, went through Berths mind like a 
flash. He was a generous little fellow, and any 
kindness shown him, no matter how trifling, made 
his heart overflow. 

Look here,^' he cried, “ where are you going to 
get your dinner to-day ? 

can get a bite here as well as anywhere. 
It don’t matter much to me,” replied the old 
man. 

^^Dine with me,” said Bert, laughing. ^‘Td like 
to have you.” 

“ I’m afraid I couldn’t afford to dine as you are 
going to,” said the man, with a smile, his eyes twin- 
kling again, and his white front teeth shining. 

“ I’ll pay for your dinner ! ” Bert exclaimed. 
“ Come ! We don’t have a Thanksgiving but once 
a year ; and a feller wants a good time then.” 

But you are waiting for another boy.” 

Oh, Hop Houghton ! He won’t come now, it’s 
so late. He’s gone to a place down in North Street, 
I guess, — a place I don’t like, there’s so much to- 
bacco smoked and so much beer drank there.” Bert 
cast a final glance up the street. No, he won’t come 
now. So much the worse for him I He likes the 
men down there ; I don’t.” 

Ah 1 ” said the man, taking off his hat, and giving 
it a brush with his elbow, as they entered the restau- 
rant, — as if trying to appear as respectable as he 
could in the eyes of a newsboy of such fastidious 
tastes. 


BEET’S THANKSGIVINQ. 245 

To make him feel quite comfortable in his mind 
on that point, Bert hastened to say : 

I mean rowdies, and such. Poor people, if they 
behave themselves, are just as respectable to me as 
rich folks. I ain’t the least mite aristocratic.” 

‘‘ Ah, indeed I ” And the old man smiled again, 
and seemed to look relieved. “ I’m very glad to 
hear it.” 

He placed his hat on the floor, and took a seat op- 
posite Bert at a little table, which they had all to 
themselves. 

Bert offered him the bill of fare. 

No, I must ask you to choose for me ; but noth- 
ing very extravagant, you know. I’m used to plain 
fare.” 

So am I. But I’m going to have a good dinner 
for once in my life, and so shall you ! ” cried Bert, 
generously. What do you say to chicken- soup, 
and then wind up with a thumping big piece of 
squash pie? How’s that for a Thanksgiving 
dinner ? ” 

Sumptuous I ” said the old man, appearing to 
glow with the warmth of the room and the prospect 
of a good dinner. ^‘But won’t it cost you too 
much ? ” 

Too much? No, dr /” laughed Bert. “ Chick- 
en-soup, fifteen cents ; pie — they give tremendous 
pieces here ; thick, I tell you I — ten cents. That’s 
twenty-five cents ; half a dollar for two. Of course, 
I don’t do this way every day in the year. But 


246 


YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS. 


mother ’s glad to have me, once in a while. Here, 
waiter ! ” And Bert gave his princely order as if it 
were no very great thing for a liberal young fellow 
like him, after all. 

‘‘ Where is your mother ? Why don’t you dine 
with her? ” the little man asked. 

Bert’s face grew sober in a moment. 

“ That’s the question : why don’t I ? I’ll tell you 
why I don’t. I’ve got the best mother in the world. 
What I’m trying to do is to make a home for her, so 
we can live together, and eat our Thanksgiving din- 
ners together some time. Some boys want one 
thing, some another. There ’s one goes in for good 
times ; another ^s in such a hurry to get rich he don’t 
care much how he does it ; but what I want most 
of anything is to be with my mother and my two 
sisters again, and I ain’t ashamed to say so.” 

Bert’s eyes grew very tender, and he went on, 
while his companion across the table watched him 
with a very gentle, searching look. 

I haven’t been with her now for two years ; 
hardly at all since father died. When his business was 
settled up, — he kept a little grocery store on Hano- 
ver Street, — it was found he hadn’t left us anything. 
We had lived pretty well up to that time, and I and 
my two sisters had been to school ; but then mother 
had to do something, and her friends got her places 
to go out nursing, and she’s a nurse now. Every- 
body likes her, and she has enough to do. Wo 
couldn’t be with her, of course. She got us boarded 


BERT’S THANKSGIVING. 


247 


at a good place, but I saw how hard it was going to 
be for her to support us, so I said, ‘ I’m a boy ; 1 can 
do something for myself. You just pay their board, 
and keep ’em to school, and I’ll go to work, and 
maybe help you a little, besides taking care of my- 
self’ ” 

What could you do ? ” said the little old man. 

That’s it. I was only ’leven years old, and what 
could I ? What I should have liked would have been 
some nice place, where I could do light work, and 
stand a chance of learning a good business. But 
beggars mustn’t be choosers. I couldn’t find such a 
place ; and I wasn’t going to be loafing about the 
streets, so I went to selling newspapers. I’ve sold 
newspapers ever since, and I shall be twelve years 
old next month.” 

“ You like it ? ” said the old man. 

‘^I like to get my own living,” replied Bert, 
proudly. But what I want is to learn some trade, 
or regular business, and settle down, and make a 
home for — But there’s no use talking about that. 
Make the best of things, that’s my motto. Don’t 
this soup smell good ? And don’t it taste good, too? 
They haven’t put so much chicken in yours as they 
have in mine. If you don’t mind my having tasted 
it, we’ll change.” 

The old man declined this liberal offer, took Bert’s 
advice to help himself freely to bread, which didn’t 
cost anything,” and ate his soup with prodigious 
relish, as it seemed to Bert, who grew more and 


248 


YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS. 


more hospitable and patronizing as the repast pro- 
ceeded. 

Come now, won’t you have something between 
the soup and the pie ? Don’t be afraid : I’ll pay for 
it. Thanksgiving don’t come but once a year. You 
won’t ? A cup of tea, then, to go with your pie ? ” 

I think I will have a cup of tea ; you are so 
kind,” said the old man. 

^‘All right 1 Here, waiter! Two pieces of your 
fattest and biggest squash pie ; and a cup of tea, 
strong, for this gentleman.” 

I’ve told you about myself,” added Bert ; “ sup- 
pose, now, you tell me something.” 

“ About myself? ” 

“Yes. I think that would go pretty well with 
the pie.” 

But the man shook his head. “ I could go back 
and tell about my plans and hopes when I was a lad 
of your age ; but it would be too much like your own 
story over again. Life isn’t what we think it will 
be when we are young. You’ll find that out soon 
enough. I am all alone in the world now, and I am 
sixty-seven years old.” 

“Have some cheese with your pie, won’t you? 
It must be so lonely at your age. What do you do 
for a living ? ” 

“ I have a little place in Devonshire Street. My 
name is Crooker. You’ll find me up two flights of 
stairs, back room, at the right. Come and see me, 
and I’ll tell you all about my business, and perhaps 


BERT’S THANKSGIVING. 249 

help you to such a place as you want, for I know 
several business-men. Now don’t fail.” 

And Mr. Crooker wrote his address with a little 
stub of a pencil on a corner of the newspaper which 
had led to their acquaintance, tore it off carefully, 
and gave it to Bert. 

Thereupon the latter took a card from his pocket, 
— not a very clean one, I must say (I am speaking 
of the card, though the remark will apply equally 
well to the pocket), — and handed it across the table 
to his new friend. 

“ Herbert Hampton^ Dealer in Newspapers^'' the old 
man read, with his sharp gray eyes, which glanced 
up funnily at Bert, seeming to say, “ Isn’t this rather 
aristocratic for a twelve-year-old newsboy ? ” 

Bert blushed, and explained. Got up for me by 
a printer’s boy I know. I’d done some favors for 
him, and so he made me a few cards. Handy to have 
sometimes, you know.” 

Well, Herbert,” said the little old man, I’m 
glad to have made your acquaintance. The pie was 
excellent ; — not any more, thank you ; — and I hope 
you’ll come and see me. You’ll find me in very hum* 
ble quarters ; but you are not aristocratic, you say. 
Now, won’t you let me pay for my dinner? I believe 
I have money enough. Let me see.” 

Bert would not hear of such a thing, but walked 
up to the desk and settled the bill, with the air of a 
person who did not regard a trifling expense. 

When he looked round again, the little old man 
was gone. 


250 


YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS. 


Never mind, 111 go and see him the first chance 
I have/' said Bert, as he looked at the pencilled 
strip of newspaper margin again before putting it 
into his pocket. 

He then went round to his miserable quarters, in 
the top of a cheap lodging-house, where he made 
himself ready, by means of soap and water and a 
broken comb, to walk five miles into the suburbs, 
and get a sight, if only for five minutes, of his 
mother. 

On the following Monday, Bert, having a leisure 
hour, went to call on his new acquaintance in Dev- 
onshire Street. 

Having climbed the two flights, he found the door 
of the back room at the right ajar, and looking in, saw 
Mr. Crooker at a desk, in the act of receiving a roll 
of money from a well-dressed visitor. 

Bert entered unnoticed and waited till the money 
was counted and a receipt signed. Then, as the 
visitor departed, old Mr. Crooker looked round and 
saw Bert. He offered him a chair, then turned to 
lock up the money in a safe. 

^^So this is your place of business?" said Bert, 
glancing about the plain office-room. What do 
you do here ? " 

I buy real estate sometimes — sell — rent — and 
60 forth." 

Who for ? " asked Bert. 

For myself," said little old Mr. Crooker, with a 
smile. 


BERT’S THANKSGIVING. 


251 


Bert stared, perfectly aghast at the situation. 
This, then, was the man whom he had invited to 
dinner, and treated so patronizingly the preceding 
Thursday I 

I — I thought — you was a poor man.’^ 

I am a poor man,” said Mr. Crooker, locking his 
safe. “ Money don’t make a man rich. I’ve money 
enough. I own houses in the city. They give me 
something to think of, and so keep me alive. I had 
truer riches once, but I lost them long ago.” 

From the way the old man’s voice trembled, and 
eyes glistened, Bert thought he must have meant by 
these riches friends he had lost — wife and children, 
perhaps. 

“ To think of me inviting you to dinner I ” he cried, 
abashed and ashamed. 

It loas odd.” And Mr. Crooker showed his white 
front teeth with a smile. But it may turn out to 
have been a lucky circumstance for both of us. I 
like you ; I believe in you ; and I’ve an offer to make 
to you. I want a trusty, bright boy in this office, — 
somebody I can bring up to my business, and leave 
it with, as I get too old to attend to it myself. What 
do you say ? ” 

What could Bert say ? 

Again that afternoon he walked — or rather ran — 
to his mother ; and after consulting with her, joy- 
fully accepted Mr. Crocker’s offer. 

Interviews between his mother and his employer 
soon followed, resulting in something for which at 


252 


YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS. 


first the boy had not dared to hope. The lonely, 
childless old man, who owned so many houses, want- 
ed a home ; and one of these houses he offered to 
Mrs. Hampton, with ample support for herself and her 
children, if she would also make it a home for him. 

Of course this proposition was accepted ; and Bert 
soon had the satisfaction of seeing the great ambi- 
tion of his youth accomplished. He had employment 
which promised to become a profitable business (as 
indeed it did in a few years, he and the old man 
proved so useful to each other) ; and, more than that, 
he was united once more with his mother and sisters 
in a happy home, where he has since had a good 
many Thanksgiving dinners. 


CARL ROBSON’S CHRISTMAS. 


I T had been fully agreed that Carl Robson was to 
board with his uncle’s family in town, and go to 
school that winter, when Aunt Robson’s consump- 
tive cough suddenly unsettled everything. 

She must go south,” said the doctor ; and Uncle 
Robson, who had business connections in Havana, 
resolved at once that he would accompany her 
thither. 

“ But the girls ! ” said poor Mrs. Robson, whose 
head was usually set in a whirl by her husband’s 
swift way of deciding things. 

Take them with us.” 

And the servants ? 

Take Molly, too. You have been wanting to get 
rid of the cook ; now is your chance.” 

And the house — with all our nice things in it ? ” 
Shut it up, or get somebody to come and sleep 
in it.” 

shall be worried to death about the house,” 

253 


254 


YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS. 


said Aunt Kobson, despairingly. And Carl, who 
was to board with us ! — what shall we do with him ? 
It will be such a disappointment to the poor boy I 

I have it I cried Uncle Robson. Carl shall come 
to sleep in the house, and take care of the things.” 

Alone ! ” 

Why not ? He’s a plucky fellow, he won’t mind. 
He can make his own bed, and get his meals at a 
restaurant. I’ll write to him.” 

The migration of the family was a source of great 
disappointment to Carl, as his aunt had predicted. 
But he had much of his uncle’s decisive turn of mind, 
and he consented at once to the new arrangement. 

And so it happened that he found himself alone in 
the great house that winter. As he was a poor boy, 
with an education and a living to get, he had, fortu- 
nately, no very fastidious views of life ; and what 
would have been a hardship to many, he accepted 
with thankfulness, even with glee. 

Carl was then sixteen years old, healthy and hardy, 
and full of hope. Had he been without an object in 
life, he would have been lonesome and homesick 
enough in the large, empty house, where, I fear, but 
few of his spare hours would have been spent. But, 
fired with a noble ambition, he found a pleasure in 
the quiet life he lived there, a satisfaction even in 
getting his own frugal breakfasts, and baking his own 
corn-bread and potatoes. 

Now Carl had never in his life had anything so 
much like an adventure as this ; but he was destined 


GAEL KOBSON’S CHRISTMAS. 


255 


to meet with something much more like one before 
the winter was over. 

It was Christmas eve. Carl’s mind was filled with 
thoughts of home and memories of many a bygone 
Christmas. He could not study, so he threw his 
book aside and wrote long letters to his widowed 
mother and sisters, who he knew were thinking of 
him then. When he got through it was near mid- 
night. He did not feel like sleeping, and, taking his 
lamp, he went to the top of the house, where he was 
accustomed to find a pleasant recreation, after poring 
late over his books, in studying the stars. 

He used a table in one of the garret-rooms for his 
lamp and celestial atlas ; and, for the observation of 
the heavens, a scuttle-window on the landing of the 
attic stairs. 

Stepping upon an old trunk placed for the purpose, 
he was able to lift the skylight sash on its hinges, 
lay it back upon the sloping roof, and then stand with 
his head out under the starry hemisphere. The night 
was cold, and he wore his coat and cap as if he had 
been on the street. 

When he wished to refer to his maps he stepped 
into the adjoining room, then once more returned to 
his hole in the roof, put out his head, and traced the 
constellations. 

How beautiful, how far off, sparkled those starry 
fires ! How silent slept the city roofs beneath ! The 
town seemed not merely asleep, but dead ; and only 
the burning eyes of the stars appeared alive. 


256 


YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS. 


There was something fascinating in the sublime 
solitude of that lonely outlook into infinite, glittering 
space. Having finished his studies for the night, 
and partly closed the window, Carl still stood there, 
remembering that it was Christmas time, and think- 
ing how many childish heads lay sleeping all about 
him, dreaming perhaps even then of Santa Claus 
coming over those roofs, loaded with presents for 
good boys and girls. 

Then the east brightened, and Carl waited to see 
the moon rise. How strange and wasted and ghastly 
it looked, pushing its pale horn up over the broken 
line of roofs, then floating away like the ghost of a 
white canoe into the dark ocean of space. 

Carl was watching the moon when he became sud- 
denly aware of an object moving between its light 
and him, something which he tried at first to think a 
cat, but which he was speedily convinced could be 
nothing less than a human head and shoulder. 

It was on the roof of the third house, in the same 
block, creeping slowly over the ridge-pole — a black 
silhouette sharply defined for an instant against the 
moon. Then it slipped silently down the slope, and 
disappeared in shadow. 

“ It is somebody playing Santa Claus, was CarPs 
first natural thought. 

His curiosity was strongly excited, however, and 
he continued to watch. Several minutes elapsed, 
during which he saw nothing, heard nothing. The 
figure, he concluded, must have got down upon an 


CARL ROBSON’S CHRISTMAS. 


257 


intervening roof, which was lower by a few feet than 
the roofs each side of it. 

Such proved to have been the case. Carl was still 
watching, when a head, in a close-fitting cap, was 
thrust up over the edge of the very roof where he 
was, and within fifteen feet of his scuttle. A pair of 
shoulders followed; then, after a brief pause, the 
entire figure hopped up on the roof, as soft and light 
as an ape, and sat there in the moonlight. 

Now Carl was no coward, as the event proved. 
And yet it must be owned that the mystery of the 
thing vividly impressed his imagination, and made 
the roots of his hair thrill and stir for a few seconds. 
Then reason came to his aid. 

No Santa Claus that,’' he said to himself. Some- 
body who has no business on this roof. Most proba- 
bly a burglar. Looks like a young fellow, a boy. He 
mustn’t see me.” 

Carl stepped noiselessly back, closed the door of 
the room in which his lamp was burning, then cau- 
tiously put his eyes up over the edge of the scuttle- 
frame once more. 

The mysterious visitor had left his perch, and was 
moving along, hitch by hitch, in a half sitting, half 
reclining posture, towards the skylight. 

Again the boy’s blood curdled. But his resolu- 
tion of mind did not waver for a moment. He 
crouched under the slope of the roof below the scut- 
tle, to wait. 

In a little while, without the slightest noise, a face 

17 


258 YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS. 

appeared over the skylight. Carl, from his dark 
corner, had but a glimpse of it ; then a hand reached 
down to unfasten from its key the iron arm on which 
the raised sash rested. It was with difiSculty that 
he resisted an impulse to seize hold of the hand and 
make trouble for the owner. 

The iron arm freed, the sash was slowly and noise- 
lessly lifted and laid back upon the roof. Then all 
was still for a few minutes. Carl could hear his own 
heart beat. Then a head was put down through the 
opening. He was tempted to make a dash at that, 
too, and haul the burglar in with fingers clutching 
his throat. 

In a little while the head was withdrawn ; after- 
wards a pair of feet appeared over the window-frame, 
then a pair of dangling legs. Another brief, intense 
silence ; then the legs turned, and cautiously over 
the frame a slender human form let itself down into 
the house. 

Before the legs touched the landing, however, 
Carl rose up, rushed forward, seized them, and bore 
them away. There was a brief struggle, during which 
the intruder tried in vain to maintain his hold upon 
the frame and get back his legs ; then there was a 
heavy fall ; the hands and arms, wrenched from their 
support while Carl tugged at the legs, had let the 
head and whole body drop with a crash and thump, 
partly upon the lid of the old trunk and partly upon 
the floor. 



Carl Robson’s Christmas. — P age 259 . 




CARL ROBSON’S CHRISTMAS. 


259 


Carl still held the legs in the air, dragging their 
owner after him towards the room in which his lamp 
was left. But before he could throw open the door one 
foot had kicked itself free, and was beginning to play a 
lively tattoo upon his arms and chest. Had the burg- 
lar worn boots he would have made a bad job for his 
captor. But he had entered the house with nothing 
but stockings and soft rubber shoes on his feet, and 
the rubbers were lost off in the beginning of the 
struggle. 

The freed foot was good, however, to aid in the 
rescue of its mate, and it gave Carl no leisure for 
opening the door. Suddenly he changed his tactics, 
let go the foot as it was escaping him, and flung him- 
self headlong upon the prostrate burglar. 

What happened afterwards he hardly knew, until 
he found himself rolling with his antagonist down 
the attic stairs. 

Both were slightly stunned by the tumble. The 
burglar was the first to recover breath and strength. 
Flinging Carl off, he scrambled to his feet. Carl was 
up almost as soon as he ; but he was on the lower 
landing, while the burglar was one or two steps 
above. 

Back up the stairway the latter leaped, seized the 
first thing he could lay hold of, which happened to 
be a chair, hurled it down upon Carl, and made a 
spring at the window. 

He was half out, when he once more felt the in- 
exorable grip on his legs. Carl had somehow dodged 


260 


YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS. 


the chair ; and all the fury of fight roused in him, he 
reached the upper landing in time to give his antago- 
nist another and more damaging fall. 

Hugging the captured legs with all his remaining 
strength, he went staggering back against the door, 
which he this time succeeded in throwing open. 

When the burglar, whose head had struck the 
floor as he fell, fully regained his senses, he found 
himself lying on his back across the threshold of a 
lighted chamber, and his captor sitting heavily across 
his body, holding him down by the arms. 

Up to this time neither had cried out ; not a word 
had been uttered. Then the burglar spoke : 

I think I may as well give up.^’ 

1 should say it was about time,” Carl answered. 

There was a pause, during which both breathed 
fast and hard after their violent exertions, and looked 
steadily at each other. 

Carl had judged rightly; his burglar was a youth 
not more than a year older than himself ; taller, per- 
haps, but less stoutly built. Not a bad-looking youth, 
either, though his hair was tumbled and his face 
streaked with blood. He had lost both cap and 
shoes in the struggle, and his shirt-front was torn 
and bloody. 

“ Well,” he said at length, “ what are you going 
to do about it ? ” 

In spite of the smears of blood and shortened breath, 
something in the face and voice seemed familiar to 
Carl. 


CARL ROBSON’S CHRISTMAS. 


261 


“ I haven’t thought so far as that,” he replied. 
Tell me what you were getting in at this window 
for.” 

“ I came in to find a place to sleep,” said the rogue, 
audaciously. 

You were very sly,” said Carl. 

“ Certainly. I didn’t want to disturb any one.” 
And more and more it seemed to Carl that there was 
something in the face and voice with which he had 
before been acquainted. 

You are very considerate. No doubt you wore 
no boots for the same reason ? ” 

Of course,” returned the captive. " You don’t 
suppose I wanted to sleep in my boots ? ” 

Where did you come from ? ” 

My boarding-house. I gave up my bed to some 
fellows. I came out on a little voyage of discoveryj’ 
“ Maybe you can make a judge and jury believe 
that,” said Carl, sarcastically. 

I don’t want the chance,” replied the intruder, 
frankly. “ Judges and juries are apt to take wrong 
views of things.” 

I believe I know you,” said Carl. 

I’ve no doubt of it ; I know you,” replied the 
burglar. 

Yes,” added Carl ; you went to school where I 
do, a little while. What did you leave for ? ” 

“ Because I was a fool j I don’t know of any other 
reason.” 


262 


YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS. 


Did you know I lived in this house ? ” 

No ; I don’t even remember your name.^^ 

I remember yours — Wharton, isn’t it ? After 
you left, there were a good many inquiries as to what 
had become of Wharton. I didn’t expect to meet 
you again in this way.” 

There was genuine pity in Carl’s tones, and 
Wharton was touched. His lips twitched, but he 
said nothing. 

Wharton, I am sorry for you. Get up and wash 
yourself ; then we’ll talk this thing over. But prom- 
ise that you won’t try to get away.” 

Wharton promised readily, and Carl let him up. 
The shoes were found and put on, and Carl, carrying 
the lamp, sent his captive before him down the stairs 
to his own room. Here water and towels were used 
by both, for Carl found to his surprise that he was 
almost as bloody and quite as tumbled as his antago- 
nist ; then, combed and brushed, they sat down and 
once more looked at each other. 

Ain’t there anybody else in the house ?” Whar- 
ton inquired. 

Not just now. I live here all alone, take care of 
my own room, and get my own breakfast and supper.” 

“ Ain’t you lonesome as the dogs ? ” 

“ No ; I’m happy as a prince. I have something 
to do. My studies interest me, and I make the 
housework a recreation.” 

You are a different fellow from me,” said Whar 
ton, looking gloomily about the room. 


CARL ROBSON’S CHRISTMAS. 


263 


suppose so. Now, tell me of yourself. I want 
to know how you ever came to do so strange, so 
wild a thing.” 

I’m naturally wild — the most reckless fellow 
ever you saw. I’d give anything if I was like you. 
Do you suppose I am a scamp because I want 
to be?” 

“ Not wholly. I don’t suppose anybody ever is so. 
How does it happen? I remember your father 
coming to school to inquire about you ; he seemed 
a decent sort of man.” 

My father is a good man enough, but he has 
never treated me right. Neither he nor my mother 
ever had any authority over me when I was little. 
I didn’t want to go to school, and they didn’t make 
me go, as they ought to have done. They tried to 
hire and coax me to go, and when I wouldn’t they 
made all sorts of excuses for me, until I really thought 
I was a rare boy — an exceptional character — too 
delicate either to work or study. That’s the way I 
was brought up. Then when they found out their 
mistake, it was too late. I was so ignorant for a boy 
of my age, that I was ashamed to go to the public 
school and be in the classes where I belonged ; so at 
last I was sent to the private school where you saw 
me. You know how it was there. I couldn’t get 
along and keep up with even the lowest class. I was 
too backward in everything. I had never learned 
to apply myself. 1 got mad, and left — ran away.” 

;^n away from home ? ” 


264 


YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS. 


Yes — for I had to, then, if I left school. My 
father has turned right round, lately, and I can’t 
blame him much,” muttered Wharton. He is tired 
of getting me out of scrapes. For, you see, when I 
wasn’t doing one thing I was doing another, learn- 
ing deviltry if not arithmetic. He told me if I left 
that school he would have nothing more to do with 
me, and he has kept his word. That put me in a hard 
place, especially as one of my chums had been sent 
to the house of correction, and two of them to the 
reform school. That’s why I happen to be out alone 
to-night. I was hard up. I didn’t dare to take any- 
thing in the house where I board, for I should have 
been the first one suspected. It was so easy getting 
out of my attic window, I thought I could get into 
some othef in the block and find a pocket-book or 
some table- silver. I’m telling you the honest truth 
this time.” 

Carl was deeply interested in this story. 

“ Wharton,” said he, earnestly, you’re naturally a 
bright boy, and not a very bad one, I hope ; and, 
see here, Wharton I you ought to do something 
better for yourself — you are worthy of something 
better, I am sure.’^ 

The kindly emotion with which he spoke, and 
which brought tears to his eyes and a tremor to his 
voice, produced a singular effect on Wharton, who 
burst out with a strain of profanity, brushed his 
sleeve across his eyes, and cursed his luck. 

What can I do ? ” he asked. 


CARL ROBSON’S CHRISTMAS. 


265 


Begin an honest life/^ exclaimed Carl. There’s 
no safety or satisfaction in anything else. You know 
that as well as I do.” 

‘‘ Yes, and a deuced sight better,” Wharton replied, 
only using a much more profane expression. “ But 
how can I ? I can’t earn my living, and my father 
won’t help me.” 

Your father will help you whenever he sees you 
in earnest to help yourself. Now don’t you think 
he will?” 

Well, maybe ; but the fact is, he don’t believe in 
me any more. I’ve promised better fashions too 
often when he has got me out of scrapes. I don’t 
blame him.” 

So the two talked for an hour or more. At last 
Carl said : 

Wharton, if I didn’t think you capable of better 
things, I would just hand you over to the police for 
your own good. But I am not going to do anything 
of the kind. I am going to be your friend, if you’ll 
let me. I’ll see your parents in the morning, and 
bring about a reconciliation with them, — I am 
sure I can, — only convince me first that you are 
in earnest, so that I can convince them, for I 
never can make them believe what I don’t believe 
myself.” 

If you mean that I am to go back to that school, 
and be at the foot of a class four or five years younger 
than I am, I simply can’t do it,” exclaimed Wharton. 
^ If I had a private tutor — if you, now, would only 


266 


YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS. 


take me in hand, I’d promise — I’d promise any- 
thing, I’d do anything.” 

He spoke with so much feeling that Carl, thrilling 
with sympathy, grasped his hand. 

I’ll do all I can for you. But, remember, you 
will have the most to do for yourself. I’ll see your 
father — shall I ? ” 

Yes ; but don’t tell him how I came into this 
house.” 

Nobody shall know that as long as you let me 
put faith in you. Now go, and come and see me to- 
morrow — or rather to-day — at about noon.” 

And, after exchanging promises and pledges with 
his strange visitor, Carl let him out of the house by 
the front door. 

The young student was for a long time too much 
excited to sleep ; and, although he could have lain 
as late as he pleased that Christmas morning, 
thoughts of young Wharton, in whom he took a deep 
interest, roused him early. By nine o’clock, his 
breakfast eaten and his housework done, he was on 
his way to the elder Wharton’s residence. 

He was shown into a pleasant sitting-room, where 
a boy of nine, and two pretty girls of twelve and 
fourteen, were still making merry over their Christ- 
mas presents. The mother sat by, smiling with 
a sad face. The father, a short, stout man, with a 
broad, red-whiskered face, presently came in, and 
looked inquiringly at his visitor. 

Carl opened his business at once. 


CARL ROBSON’S CHRISTMAS. 


267 


" I have come to speak with you about your son.” 
Mrs. Wharton gave a start, and an appealing look 
at her husband. His broad face was visibly agitated 
as he glanced from Carl to the children. 

Grirls,” he said, “ you may take James out of the 
room.” He closed the door after them, and ap- 
preached Carl, drawing a long breath of anxiety. 

You mean my son Elwood ? ” 

“ Yes, sir,” replied Carl, though he had never 
heard the son’s first name before ; at school he was 
simply called Wharton. I have seen him, and 
talked with him.” 

“ Are you one of his crew ? ” demanded the father, 
speaking sternly, with an efibrt at self-control. 

“ I go to the school where he went. I had no 
other acquaintance with him — until — he called on 
me.” 

How did he happen to call on you^ if you had so 
little acquaintance with him ? ” 

Carl looked the suspicious father calmly in the 
face, and answered in words which told, yet concealed 
the truth. 

He fell in with me — accidentally — and I asked 
him to my room, where we had a talk. I think that 
your son is changed. He makes solemn, and I be- 
lieve sincere, pledges for future good behavior.” 

He has made promises enough — too many 
promises — in the past. He would neither go to 
school nor learn any kind of business, though I’ve 
got him places, and given him the best chance ever 


268 


YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS. 


a boj had. Now, how can I believe — how can 1 
trust him ? ” 

Remember/' sobbed out Mrs. Wharton, standing 
by his side, bowed, with clasped hands, ‘‘ he is our 
own son ! " 

The emotion the father betrayed, spite of his 
efforts to conceal it, was not all anger ; and Carl 
was encouraged to follow up the wife's appeal with 
a strong petition in the erring son’s behalf. 

‘‘ There's just one thing," suddenly exclaimed the 
father, walking the room with violent strides, and 
then standing with clinched, raised hand before Carl. 

Will he go back to Professor Brown's school ? " 

“ I think, if you knew just how he is situated there, 
you would not ask that." 

I do know. It’s his own fault. I ask just that. 
Will he go back? " 

Yes, in a little while, I am sure, he will. But he 
really needs a little private assistance in his studies 
first. Let him come to me ; I'll teach him, and re- 
port to you faithfully how he is getting on. A month 
will tell the story. You needn't even take him home 
in the meanwhile ; but just pay his board where he 
is — that can’t be much — and give a word of en- 
couragement for me to take back to him." 

‘‘ And how much pay do you expect for your 
trouble ? " Mr. Wharton asked — insultingly, Carl 
thought. 

But he excused the suspicion of a father who had 
never learned to put faith in his son, or his son's 
friends, and answered coolly : 


CARL ROBSON’S CHRISTMAS. 


269 


No pay whatever. I am interested in your son, 
and will gladly do this for him out of pure good-will. 
If I succeed in bringing him to serious views of life, 
I shall be more than paid for everything.’^ 

The broad face worked convulsively, and Carl no- 
ticed two or three swift tears course down, and hide 
themselves in the thicket of the red whiskers. 

Mrs. Wharton clung to her husband’s arm, and 
pleaded, in broken tones, the boy’s cause. 

He was my favorite child,” said Mr, Wharton, 
with another strong effort at self-control. “ There 
was nothing I wouldn’t do for him — nothing I didn’t 
do.” He choked, and went on : “ And do you think, 
this Christmas time, when our other children are 
around us and happy, do you suppose — • ” 

But here he quite broke down. 

“I know he has been in your mind,” said Carl. 

And you may be sure you are in his. He knows 
what kind parents and what a pleasant home he has 
lost — lost by his own folly. All I ask for him is, 
that you will give him a chance to regain them by 
good behavior.” 

Then Mrs. Wharton spoke up: 

If this young man, a stranger almost to our son, 
is willing to try him, ought we not to be willing ? ” 
Well, I will try him once more,” exclaimed Mr. 
Wharton, seizing Carl’s hand. I believe you are 
an honest fellow. Make my son an honest fellow, 
like you, and you’ll place us all under eternal obli* 
gations.” 


270 


YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS. 


111 try.” said Carl. 

And, see here I We^re to have a Christmas din- 
ner ; bring Elwood around with you, and — well 
talk the matter over.” 

Carl accepted the invitation, and left the house, 
elated with joy and hope. 

The son came to see him again at noon, this time 
entering at the front door, and was deeply affected 
by the account Carl gave of his interview with the 
parents. Carl furnished him with a clean shirt, and 
then went with him to the Wharton’s Christmas 
dinner. 

Both were joyfully received; and, the dinner — ■ 
which, by the way, was excellent — resulted in an 
arrangement by which Carl was to take Elwood as a 
private pupil on trial for one month. 

The experiment was a gratifying success. Elwood, 
separated from his old associates, and brought under 
the influence of the genial, sympathetic Carl, soon 
became interested in studies which he had only 
detested before. Elwood went home to live. He 
used to visit Carl every evening, and Carl went 
to dine with him every day. That Elwood had many 
temptations to overcome cannot be denied. He was 
often impatient, restless, ready to give up, and rush 
out into his old, wild life once more ; but Carl, by 
carefully watching him, and joining with him in mod- 
erate healthful recreation, kept his hold upon him, 
and brought about a complete change in his habits 
before the winter was over. 


CARL ROBSON'S CHRISTMAS. 


271 


But El wood was not born to be a student. He 
fancied an active life on board a steamboat or on a 
railroad, and, at Carl’s recommendation, he was per- 
mitted to follow his bent. He is now a trusted, 
efficient agent of one of the largest express compa- 
nies in the United States. His position is not high, 
but he is happy in it, and all his prosperity he refers 
and dates back to Carl Robson and that memorable 
Christmas. 

As for Carl, he is now a successful physician in 
his native village, and the support and comfort of 
his widowed mother. 


TOM CORTLAND’S GOLD 
WATCH. 


H alloo, Tom \ You don’t say ! Gold watch ? ^ 
Tom nodded as he returned the treasure to 
his pocket. 

Eeal gold ? ” said the boys. 

Real gold,” replied Tom, coolly. Hunter’s case^. 
full jewelled, stem-winder. Anything else you want 
to know ? ” 

“ Let’s look at it I ” “ Pass it round ! ” Oh, 

what a beauty ! ” clamored the boys, as Tom dis- 
played the wonder. 

“ But isn’t it a rather extravagant thing for a 
young man like you to carry ? ” said James Aiken, 
the oldest and gravest among them. • 

“ Maybe ’tis,” Tom answered, dryly ; but I don’t 
object to it. Wouldn’t you like to set your old town 
clock by it, and have the correct time out here in the 
rural districts for once ? I’ll accommodate ye, to a 
second.” 

Tom had run out for a holiday visit to his native 

272 


TOM CORTLAND’S GOLD V^ATCH. 


273 


village, and he took a boyish pleasure in thus mys- 
tifying his old schoolmates. But there was nothing 
vain or stuck-up about Tom Cortland, and having 
shown them how the stem-winder worked — winding 
up their curiosity at the same time to the highest 
pitch — he went on to answer the important ques- 
tion, “ How did you come by it ? 

Now I don’t suppose I shall be able to give Tom’s 
exact words. But his manner of telling the story — 
which, I may as well say at the start, is not one of 
my own making up — was something like this : 

How did I come by it? Well, that is an in- 
teresting point, when you see a valuable timepiece 
in the pocket of a poor boy you’ve kept track of all 
your lives. You know I hadn’t any money when I 
went up to town two years ago and got a place in 
old Peter WagstaflPs trunk shop. I hardly got wages 
enough the first year to pay my board. 

I’ve earned more this year. At the same time 
I’ve sent home regularly a dollar a week to 2ny 
mother. 

“ Now I couldn’t very well have bought that watch 
out of my wages, could I ? And it isn’t a borrowed 
one ; for there you see my name engraved in the 
case ; and I’m not a thief or a swindler, not if I 
know myself, — and I rather think I do in that re- 
spect. 

What’s curious about it, for a long time it had 
been my ambition to own just such a watch as this, 
particularly after Rudolphe Rupey made his appear- 

18 


274 


YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS. 


ance at our boarding-house. He was got up to kill : 
short black curls all over his head, stylish dress, four 
or ■Qve clean shirts a week (though I found out after- 
wards he didn’t pay his washerwoman), stunning 
breastpin, diamond ring, and gold watch and chain. 

He took the shine from the rest of us, young 
Kupey did, and made me wish I was a clerk in a 
jewelry store, as he was, instead of a miserable 
trunkmaker’s apprentice The girls wouldn’t so 
much as look at one of rest of us when he was 
around. 

^ 0 my ! ’ said I, ^ if I could only haul out a gold 
hunter’s case when they ask the time, and give it to 
the half-second, as h© pretends to ! ’ You see, I was 
a trifle foolish. I fcaow a little more now ; so do the 
girls. 

“ I was wise enc ttgh to stick to my business though, 
and day after day you might have seen me hammer- 
ing at the old t!?Unks, — the new trunks, I mean ; but 
they were old to me ; there was a wonderful same- 
ness about them. 

‘‘ Well, one day a man came into the store with an 
order for something besides trunks. I pricked up 
my ears, and found he Was an Henglishman,’ who 
dropped his ^ haitches/ and then picked ’em up and 
’ooked ’em on to the ’©ads of the wrong words. I 
saw that he was a tail, well-built, well-dressed man, 
but with a sort of cheap look about him under all his 
good clothes and politeness. 

“ You ^hat I mean. There are some men 


TOM CORTLAND’S GOLD WATCH. 


275 


who can^t be gentlemen, if they try. Wash them 
up, brush them up, dress them up, put on the shine 
and the perfume, — goodness, what a whiff when he 
pulled out his handkerchief I — and still there ’\\ be 
something coarse about them. The refinement shows 
that it’s only varnish ; it isn’t in the grain. I de- 
clared that Rudolphe was very much that kind of 
character ; but the girls only laughed at me, and said 
I was jealous. 

^^The Englishman had a singular order. It was 
for three boxes, and he had the exact descriptions 
of them all marked and written out. 

^ They must be heighteen-hinch boxes, you see,’ 
said he, ^ houtside measure ; ten hinches deep ; st^ut 
’inges, hiron bands, hinch and a ’alf wide ; then these 
brass corner-caps ’ — he took out the trimmings 
from his pocket — ^ on hevery corner j then these 
’asps and stout little padlocks, and these ’andles on 
the hends. Heverything must be made exact, or I 
don’t want the goods.’ 

Mr. Wagstaff, a bald-headed, little old m^n, al- 
most all forehead, spectacles, and apron, wmked 
and blinked as he looked at the figures, and finally 
said he thought he could make the boxes. 

“ ‘ ’Ow soon ? ’ says the Englishman. ^ I must ’^ve 
’em in four days, or they’ll be of no use.’ 

^ I might get the boxes made in that time,’ says 
the old man, ‘ but if they’re to be painted, how about 
that ? ’ 

« ‘ 0 yes I ’ says the Englishman ; ^ the painting 


276 


YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS. 


very himportant. They^re to be painted black — not 
a shiny black, but a dull, dead black, hall but the 
brass corner-caps, ’andles, and padlocks. Hany kind 
of ’alf-hinch 'ard wood will hanswer.’ 

^ And the insides — how are the insides to be fin- 
ished?’ said Mr. Wagstaff. 

* The hinsides ? ’ said the Englishman, as if he 
hadn’t considered that part of his boxes before, 
which I thought singular, since he was so particular 
about them. ^ Oh, just as comes ’andy I ’ says he. 
* Rough or plain — I don’t care ’ow.’ 

^ Well,’ says Mr. WagstalF, ^ I think I can fill the 
order in every particular except the painting ; they 
will want two good coats, and I won’t promise paint 
will be hard in four days from now. Besides, to- 
day is Wednesday — Thursday, Friday, Saturday, 
Sunday,’ says he, counting the days on his fin- 
gers. 

* Can’t ye have ’em ready for delivery Sunday 
hafternoon? ’ said the Englishman. 

You should have seen old Mr. Wagstaflf stare ! If 
the chap had asked him to take hold of the straps of 
his boots and jump over t' e moon, he couldn’t have 
been more astonished. I forgot to tell you he’s a 
deacon. In a matter of life and death, I don’t know 
but he might be induced to open his shop and do 
business on Sunday ; but nothing short of that would 
bring him to it. 

It was finally agreed that the boxes should be 
ready for delivery Monday morning, and the old 


TOM CORTLAND’S GOLD WATCH. 277 

man figured out the cost. He thought they could 
be made for twenty dollars. 

^ Hall right/ says the Englishman. ^ I’ll be in 
during the week and see ’ow you’re getting on 
with ’em. By the way/ said he, ^ can’t ye manage 
to ’ave ’em kept out of sight? You see, this is a 
patent thing I’m hinventing, and it’s himportant no- 
body should get ’old of the hidea.’ 

Mr. Wagstaff agreed to have the work done pri- 
vately in the back room. At that the fellow gave 
him a resounding slap on the shoulder, and cried out : 

“ ^ Hold boy, you’re a brick ! Now come round 
the corner with me and wet your w’istle, won’t ye ? ’ 

I had to laugh then. I don’t believe the deacon 
took a good breath, or winked his eyes, or shut his 
mouth, for half a minute ; buu there he just stood 
and gasped. 

‘ Oh, you don’t drink ! ’ said the fellow. ^ Well, 
no offence.’ And the Englishman went away. 

^ That man ’s a rogue,’ said I, ^ and his patent is 
just a patent swindle. I’ll bet a million dollars I ’ 

‘‘ ^ Thomas,’ said the old man, ‘ don’t make foolish 
and extravagant remarks of that kind ; and don’t be 
so quick to judge people.’ 

So I held my tongue about the rascal after that, 
though I didn’t change my mind. 

He came every day to see how the boxes were 
getting along, and when they were about ready for 
painting, he brought in a sheet of paper with some 
curious drawings on it. 


278 


YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS. 


‘ On one of the boxes,’ said he, ‘ I want a w’ite 
circle painted, just the size of this ’un, the centre of 
it to come just ’ere ; ’ and he put his finger on the 
front of the box, below the place for the padlock. 
^ On the second box I want two w’ite circles, a ring 
within a ring, like this. On the third box I want 
two just such rings, and then a still smaller one like 
this hinside the hinside one. Then, when you get 
through and the paint is ’ard, I want you to tumble 
the boxes around a little, to take off the new look, — 
a few dents and scratches, you know, — then brush 
’em, and have heverything bang-up, tip-top, ship- 
shape, when I call for ’em Monday morning.’ 

“ After that the chap surprised me very much by 
paying to old Wagstafif his twenty dollars, and went 
oflP again. 

“ Well, the cases were finished and had the last 
coat of paint on by Saturday evening, with the brass 
corner- caps and white circles, all exactly according 
to order, and I waited with a good deal of curiosity 
to see what would happen when the fellow came to 
take them away on Monday. In the meanwhile, 
something unexpected happened on Sunday. 

“ As I was passing a beer-shop on one of the by- 
streets, I saw my Henglishman with the dislocated 
haitches walk into it. Now I had such a strong sus- 
picion that he was a scamp, and that I was somehow 
aiding him in his villany by working on those three 
black cases, that, after I had walked on a piece, I 
turned squarely about, pulled my hat over my eyes, 


TOM CORTLAND’S GOLD WATCH. 


279 


put on a swaggering air, and walked into the beer- 
shop. I went up to the bar, leaned my arms on the 
counter, and said : 

^ Do you know of a young fellow here of the 
name of Smithson ? ^ 

‘ No, 1 don’t,’ said the barkeeper ; ^ but you can 
look around and see.’ 

“ There were a good many people in the saloon, 
some sitting at little tables in the back part, beyond 
the bar, where they had their pipes and glasses, and 
there I discovered not only my Englishman, but 
another chap I was a good deal more surprised to 
see. It was our boarding-house jeweller’s clerk, 
Rudolphe Rupey. 

“ The Englishman was sitting at the same table 
with him, and they were talking together. I saw 
enough in half a minute to satisfy my mind on one 
or two points. Then I left the shop. 

What I had seen in the saloon excited me a good 
deal. I wondered if Watson Brothers, the jewellers, 
knew that Rupey frequented such places and kept 
such company. If he had slept in the store, or had 
had the keys to it, I should certainly have expected 
to hear of a burglary taking place there within 
eight-and-forty hours, and I could imagine him and 
the Englishman using the boxes I had helped make 
to carry off their plunder. But I knew that Rupey 
was seldom or never there alone. And when he 
came to tea that evening, looking as innocent as 


280 


YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS. 


a lamb, I began to think my suspicions, so far as he 
was concerned, were all wrong. 

The next morning the Englishman came for his 
boxes. He examined them carefully, and then had 
them done up in brown paper wrappers, and took 
them away in a carriage. I wafted a sigh after him, 
for I fancied I was never to see him and the three 
black cases again. A fellow hates to leave a mystery 
unsolved, you know. 

“ I started to go home to dinner at the usual hour, 
and for some reason — I never could tell just why — 
went a whole block out of my way to pass by Wat- 
son Brothers’ jewelry store. It sometimes seems as 
if we were made to do things by some power outside 
of our own minds, or so deep in our minds that we 
are not conscious of it. Such a power seemed to 
impel me to go that way. It certainly wasn’t to see 
Rupey and to walk home with him, for we were not 
on such good terms as that. 

Well, just before I got to the store, I saw a hack 
stop in front of it, and the driver jump down and 
open his coach-door. Then you can imagine, or, 
rather, you can’t imagine, my perfect bewilderment 
when I saw a gentleman come out of the store with 
a carpet-bag in his left hand, and what seemed to be 
one of the boxes we had just made under his right 
arm ! It was the box that had the single white 
circle on it. 

After him came old Mr. Watson himself, bare- 
headed, carrying the other two boxes, one by the 


TOM CORTLAND’S GOLD WATCH. 


281 


handles, and the other on top of that. I had a 
glimpse of the two and three white circles as he 
passed them to the gentleman in the hack. 

“ Then suddenly an idea struck me that set my 
head whirling the other way, and that was that those 
were not my boxes at all. You know the effect, 
when youVe turned one way till you’re dizzy, if then 
you turn the other? You somehow unwind your 
tangle. My head was clear again in a second, and 
stepping up to Rupey, who was standing just inside 
the store, I said, carelessly : 

‘ Is that man in the hack one of your firm ? ’ 

“ ^ Not exactly,’ says he. ‘ That’s Mr. Rinkton, our 
travelling agent.’ 

“ ‘ Shouldn’t wonder,’ says I, ^ if he’s got something 
nice in those boxes.’ 

‘ A trifle,’ says he ; ^ perhaps ten or twenty thou- 
sand dollars in watches and jewelry. He has carried 
fifty thousand dollars’ worth in those same boxes 
before now.’ 

Of course that confirmed my suspicion about 
their being old boxes, and not the new ones we had 
just made. 

“ < I should think he would be afraid to travel with 
so much property ! ’ I said. • 

“ ‘ What should he be afraid of? ’ said Rupey, cool 
as an iced cucumber. 

‘ Robbers — railroad accidents,’ I said. 

‘ Oh, he has his eyes peeled I ’ said he. ‘ Soon as 
he gets to the station, he has those boxes locked up 


282 


YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS. 


in the safe in the express-car, and he don’t see ’em 
again till he gets to Chicago. The express agent 
receipts for ’em, and then the company is liable.’ 

While Rupey was talking, I put this and that 
together, and it came over me like a flash that I must 
hurry to the station and tell Mr. Rinkton, for he 
had already rattled away in the hack, that there was 
a design — I felt* sure of it, though of course I 
couldn’t explain it — to rob him of those boxes of 
jewelry. 

“ ‘ Going to dinner? ’ said Rupey. ^ Wait a min- 
ute, and I’ll walk along with you.’ 

^ I can’t wait/ I said ; ^ I’ve an errand to do, and 
I’ve stopped too long already.’ 

As soon as I was out of his sight I began to run. 
It was then twelve o’clock. The Western express 
train starts at half-past. It was a mile to the depot. 
I think I never made a mile in less time in my life. 
I got to the station all out of breath. I looked 
through the passenger rooms, at the ticket office, at 
the crowd going to the cars, but no Rinkton. I tried 
to get through the passenger gate,- but the guard 
stopped me. I had no ticket, and had to turn back. 
Then I ran round to the freight-gate. I was in luck. 
There stood Mr. Rinkton, evidently waiting to speak 
to the express-agent, and there, resting on a hand- 
truck beside him with other packages, were his three 
black cases, set one on top of the other. 

Now we’re curious made-up creatures, and the 
man that can understand and explain all his own 


TOM CORTLAND’S GOLD WATCH. 


283 


actions is wiser than I am. Eager as I had been to 
see Mr. Rinkton, I was put all aback when I found 
him. I didn’t know what I was to say to him, after 
all. Suppose I had rushed up to him and said : 

“ ^ You’d better look out for those boxes ; there’ll 
be an attempt to rob you of ’em between here and 
Chicago, I’m sure of it ! ’ 

The very least I could have expected would have 
been the polite information that he could attend to 
his own business, and the wholesome advice that I’d 
better go about mine. So I stopped, got behind one 
of the great pillars of the depot, and waited to think 
what I should do. 

“ There I was, getting my breath and my thoughts, 
when another figure attracted my attention. It was 
my Englishman with the distracted haitches. He 
evidently wanted to speak to the express-agent, who 
was just then attending to putting some things in 
the express-car. My man had some sort of heavy 
bundle in his arms, covered with a piece of burlap. 
He came and rested it On the hand-truck, quite near 
Mr. Rinkton and his boxes. 

^ Now,’ I said to myself, ^ I’ll see what his little 
game is. I won’t take my eye off from him for a 
second.’ 

I had scarcely made this resolution when my eye 
was drawn off in spite of me. One of those things 
happened which make everybody look in one direc- 
tion for a moment, no matter what they are inter- 
ested in. It was a sudden quarrel that broke out 


284 


YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS. 


between two men close by. They were shouting, 
and had each other by the throat, and there was a 
mob rushing towards them. By the time a police- 
man reached the spot, the row was over, and the 
two men were gone. 

Then I looked again at my Englishman. There 
he stood, with his bundle covered with burlap beside 
him on the truck. Only I noticed that, while it had 
been at the left hand of Mr. Rinkton’s boxes before, 
now it was at the right hand. It seemed as if, in 
starting forward to look at the men fighting, he had 
jostled against Mr. Rinkton, and he was now asking 
his pardon. Then, as if tired of waiting there for 
the express-agent, he took up his bundle covered 
with burlap, and started to walk towards the bag- 
gage-room. 

It came to me all at once what he had done. I 
rushed up to Mr. Rinkton. I suppose I acted like an 
idiot. He looked as if he thought so, any way. 

^ That man has robbed you I ^ I said. 

^ Robbed me ? of what ? ’ he asked, quite delib- 
erately feeling his pockets.’ 

‘ Of your cases of jewelry ! ’ I said. 

^ Here are my cases, if you mean these,’ he said. 

“ ‘ He has changed them,’ I said. ‘ He took yours j 
he left these.’ 

^ Impossible I ’ said he, looking at the boxes. 
^ You’re crazy, my lad. I haven’t had my eye off 
these cases for an instant.’ 

^‘^Yes, you have/ I said, ^ when the fight took 


TOM CORTLAND’S GOLD WATCH. 


285 


place. It was got up on purpose. That coarse 
brown cloth was over these boxes ; he threw it over 
yours and walked off with them.’ 

“ Rinkton began to be alarmed. ^ Did you see him 
do it ? ’ he asked. 

^ I saw part of the movement, and I saw that his 
pile and yours had changed places in a second. It 
was just as sleight-of-hand fellows do when they play 
a trick ; they manage to call off everybody’s atten- 
tion for a moment. Shall I keep him in sight ? ’ 

^ Yes 1 ’ said Rinkton, by this time pretty thor- 
oughly frightened. And be called the policeman, 
while I ran out of the depot. 

I was just in time to see my Englishman getting 
into a coach with his bundle covered with burlap. 
In three seconds he would have been gone. I slipped 
round to the driver just as he was mounting to his seat. 

^ Wait a moment,’ I said, ^ and you’ll be well paid 
for it.’ 

^ Go a’ead 1 w’y don’t ye ? ’ roared the English- 
man, putting his head out of the coach. 

** I beckoned to Mr. Rinkton, as he just then came 
out with the policeman. The officer apologized for 
detaining the rogue, but said he must see what was 
under that bit of burlap. So saying, he reached in 
and twitched it off. 

You never saw a more astonished man than Mr. 
Rinkton. He had hardly believed my story. He 
had just left his cases in charge of an expressman, 
and here they were again 1 


286 


YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS. 


The Englishman took the matter coolly, con- 
sidering the circumstances, and offered to prove by 
me that the cases were his. I replied that I had 
helped make similar cases for him, but that I didn’t 
think these were the ones. Then he offered to leave 
the cases in the hands of the police until he could 
bring proof that they belonged to him ; but the 
officer said he must detain him too ; and he was well 
able to do that, for now another policeman had 
come up. 

‘ Allow me to settle this question on the spot,’ 
said Mr. Rinkton ; and selecting one from a bunch 
of keys, he inserted it into the padlock of one of the 
cases. The lock opened easily. He lifted the cover, 
and there was the box packed full of jewelry, just as 
he himself had packed it. 

When the imitation cases were afterwards opened 
by the police, they were found packed with pebble- 
stones and old newspapers. And that was the pre- 
cious freight Mr. Rinkton would have gone on to 
Chicago with, if it hadn’t been for me. 

“ The Englishman was tried for the robbery at 
the last term of the court, and sent to prison for ten 
years. One of his supposed confederates who got 
up the row was also arrested, but nothing was proved 
against him. He was wanted, however, for a burg- 
lary he had committed in Philadelphia some time 
before, for he was recognized as an old rogue. 

Nothing could be proved against Rupey, either, 
though it was almost certain that he was another 


TOM CORTLAND’S GOLD WATCH. 


287 


confederate, and that the Englishman had got his 
information from him with regard to the jewelry- 
cases. He disappeared suddenly, with his short 
black curls, gold watch and diamonds, and the girls 
of our boarding-house sigh for him in vain. 

“ Meanwhile, as I was at work one day in the 
trunk- shop, a neat little box came in, addressed to 
me : ‘ With compliments of Watson Brothers,^ I 
opened it with some eagerness, you may believe, 
and danced for joy on that old floor when I found 
what the box contained. 

Boys, it was this watch, marked with my name, 
as you see. Now you know how I came by it.” 


THE WILD-CAT CLUB. 


T he Wild Cats had their place of meeting in 
Whitaker’s old barn. 

To begin with, I must tell you that the Wild Cats 
were not cats at all, either wild or tame, but a 
club” — so they called themselves — of village boys. 
They were wild enough, that ’s certain. 

What village? No matter. More than one vil- 
lage in New England has its Wild Cat Club. So 
much the worse for the village ! 

They were a band of young miscreants, let me tell 
you. If a melon-patch was robbed in the neighbor- 
hood, the theft was at once charged, and justly, upon 
the Wild Cats. 

If a couple of signs changed places in the night, 
and rough old Job Pollard appeared next morning 
as a Milliner,” and little Miss Jane Stetson as a 
dealer in Wood and Coal,” everybody laughed, ex- 
cept, possibly, Job and Jane, and exclaimed, know- 
ingly, “ The Wild Cats ! ” ' 


THE WILD-CAT CLUB. 


289 


If a school-house was broken into, and a wad of 
newspapers stuffed into the stove-pipe, causing clouds 
of suffocating smoke in the room the next day, and 
a great mystery as to the cause, — why, the Wild 
Cats I 

You might have guessed their guilt by the heroism 
with which those members of the club who were pres- 
ent bore up under the affliction, laughing at that which 
made everybody else cry. Isn’t it strange that the 
fun of making other people suffer should carry a boy 
gayly through things which would be so hard to 
bear if they were not looked upon as jokes ? 

The club met, as I have said, in Whitaker’s old 
barn, and one Saturday afternoon an exciting debate 
took place there. 

Old Job, whose wood and coal offlce had once 
been converted into a milliner’s shop in the way we 
have mentioned, was frequently a victim of Wild-Cat 
jokes. 

He was a little, shrivelled, bent old man, with a 
rheumatic back, and a thin, squeaky voice, and a soul 
so small, as the boys said, that it would have found 
more room in a pea-pod than a flounder in Lake On- 
tario. 

Because he was so mean, they thought it right to 
show him no mercy. It never occurred to them, I 
suppose, that there was any meanness in their own 
mischief-making. A new raid upon him was now 
proposed: his grape-vines were to be rifled. 

He ’s got the splendidest lot of Concords I ” said 
19 


290 


YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS. 


Hi Hicks, one of the most active of the Wild Cats, a 
tall, lank lad of seventeen. “ He ’s too mean ever to 
give one away, or even to eat one himself.^’ 

He has been letting ^em hang on the vines to get 
just ripe enough, and he has hired old Canning, who 
don’t like grapes, to pick ’em for market next Mon- 
day ; but we’ll have our share first,” said Luff Red- 
mond. 

And won’t it be fun,” cried Shote Waters, to 
have him wake up in the morning and find not a 
cluster worth picking left on his vines ? ” 

“ Jolly I ” some one replied ; and then all the boys 
laughed. 

All but one. That was Herbert Amsden, com- 
monly called Herb.” Every Wild Cat had to have 
his nickname. ‘‘ Hi ” for Hiram, and Herb ” for 
Herbert, were natural enough ; but why Amos Red- 
mond should be dubbed “ Luff,” and John Waters 
“ Shote,” does not so plainly appear. 

Herbert looked serious. 

“ The old man has bushels of grapes,” he said. 

What can we do with ’em all ? ” 

Oh, eat what we want,” Hi replied, hide a quan- 
tity, and then — grapes are worth two dollars a 
bushel. Luff says.” 

Yes,” spoke up Luff; and we might sell enough 
to keep the club in whiskey and tobacco for a month.” 

How are you going to get the grapes to market?” 
Herb inquired. 

Oh, Shote will see to that I ” replied Luff ; while 


THE WILD-CAT CLUB. 


291 


Shote grinned and nodded. He knows a man in 
the city who will buy grapes, if they are cheap 
enough, and ask no questions.” 

But see here ! ” exclaimed Herbert. 

“ Well, what is it ? ” said Hi, as he sat on the side 
of the old mow and whittled the beam with his knife. 

Herb hesitated. He was not so unscrupulous a 
boy as some of the rest. If ever he joined them in 
their mischief, it was solely for the love of fun ; and 
if in the pursuit of fun he helped to injure others, it 
was from a habit of thoughtlessness. I don’t state 
this as a very good excuse for him. Thoughtlessness 
itself may be criminal, and we know that it is a source 
of many wrongs and vices. 

But what was now proposed made Herbert stop to 
thinkr After a while he said : 

“ I’ve been with you a good many times, and I be- 
lieve I’ve always shown myself a true Wild Cat.” 

Boss ! ” “ Bully ! ” cried the boys, approvingly. 

There was one great trouble with this club, and it 
was one which makes all such connections so danger- 
ous. If you are a Wild Cat, you must show yourself 
a “ true Wild Cat.” That is to say, you must be as 
reckless a mischief-maker as you pretend to be, and 
keep your scruples of conscience to yourself, if you 
have any. 

It is always a help to feel that we have a reputa- 
tion for good behavior to maintain. 

It is always a curse to believe that we have our 
credit for reckless good fellowship ” to keep up. 


292 


YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS. 


Herbert went on : 

I like fun as well as any one, but now you are 
going a little too far. When you talk of taking 
grapes and selling them for money, that looks to 
me a little too much like — ” 

Like what ? Speak it out I cried Luff, bluntly. 
Like stealing,^^ said Herbert, blushing to the 
whites of his eyes, as he played with the straw he 
was sitting on. 

Luff gave a contemptuous snort. “ Now look here, 
Herb,’^ he said ; seems to me you went with us the 
other night to Whitman’s melon- patch I 

Yes,” added Shote, and showed us how to pick 
out the ripe cantaloupes by smellin’ on ’em.” 

That — that’s different,” stammered Herb. A 
few melons to eat, — just for fiin, you know.” 

Well, this is just for fun,” said Luff. We git a 
few grapes to eat ; we git a few more — to smoke 
and drink. We don’t steal; we are not so mean as 
to want to get money out of the old man. But we 
want grapes, and I suppose you wouldn’t object to 
taking what we can eat. We want tobacco and whis- 
key, too, and why not supply ourselves in the same 
way ? ” 

‘^That’s it!” chimed in Shote. Don’t be a goose. 
Herb Amsden ! ” 

Herb’s face was crimson. Perhaps he was a goose I 
Perhaps there was no such distinction as he had drawn 
in the different motives for taking what did not be- 
long to him ! This thought struck him with stun- 


THE WILD-CAT CLUB. 


293 


ning force, and it was followed by the uncomfortable 
reflection that stealing was stealing, any way. 

Herb’s mind was sadly confused on the subject, 
and he was not prepared to speak all his thoughts. 
The raid upon the old man’s grapes was finally 
agreed upon, in spite of his feeble objections, and 
the Wild Cats separated, to meet again, with baskets 
and everything prepared for the robbery, at ten 
o’clock that night. 

Herbert went home miserably melancholy. The 
talk with the boys had given him something to think 
of which neither work nor play could drive out of 
his mind. The more he reflected, the more his con- 
science became enlightened, and the more he was 
astonished at some things he had permitted himself 
to do in his character as a Wild Cat. 

At first he tried to pluck up resolution to go and 
join the boys at ten o’clock, as if nothing had been 
said. But no ; he couldn’t do that. 

Then he said to himself, I’ll stay away, and let 
them do as they please ; it’s none of my business.” 

But something within him would not permit that, 
either. It was his business. The Wild Cats were 
his most intimate companions ; they were merely go- 
ing to do what he had helped them do more than 
once, or something not very different ; and was he 
not in some way responsible ? 

If they were about to commit a crime, and he knew 
of it, and took no measures to hinder them, could he 
sit down with folded hands and say, “I am innocent”? 


294 


YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS. 


Herbert was not such a boy as that. 

Then it occurred to him that he might go and de« 
nounce them to the man whose vineyard was to be 
robbed. Some boys would have done just that, ex- 
pecting, perhaps, a reward from old Job ; but Her- 
bert felt a thrill of horror at the thought. He could 
not betray his friends. 

Only one course seemed left, — to meet them and 
again endeavor to dissuade them from their purpose ; 
but he felt how hard it would be for a boy who had 
always been a true Wild Cat to appear among them 
in any more serious character. He believed he would 
only get laughed at for his appeals, and that they 
would do no good. 

At last, like a flash of inspiration, came a thought 
which resulted in the plan he finally resolved upon. 
Instead of informing Job Pollard, he would himself 
act the part of Job, and prevent the robbery. 

First, how to disguise himself? This was not very 
difficult. He lived with his grandfather, an old man 
whose wardrobe furnished ample material for his pur- 
pose. 

He selected an old coat and a very bad hat, which 

eembled those worn by Job, took them to his room, 
and put them on over his own coat and cap. Then 
be bent his back, walked with his elbows out before 
the glass, and laughed heartily at his own comical 
imitation of old Pollard. 

A few white locks of hair, and a gray whisker on 
each cheek, were still necessary, and these he manu- 


THE WILD-CAT CLUB. 


295 


factured out of cotton cloth, strips of which he pinned 
to the hat, leaving some short ones to dangle, while 
he fastened the longer ones under his chin. 

This part of his disguise would hardly bear inspec- 
tion ; but he was getting himself up for a moonlight 
performance, and did not expect to be looked at very 
closely. 

For the rest, he was a capital mimic, and he re- 
lied upon his powers in that way to carry him safely 
through the adventure. 

The disguise prepared, it was carefully put aside, 
and Herbert went out to walk in the street. 

He met Shote Waters, who gave a little Wild-Cat 
cry, and said : 

“ Remember ten o’clock.^^ 

Yes,’^ replied Herbert, languidly. 

You’ll be there ? ” said Shote. 

No — yes — I don’ know,” said Herbert. I don’t 
believe in what you’re going to do. I told you that, 
and I didn’t promise to help.” 

Oh, now, don’t back out, Herb I ” 

“ I don’t back out, for I haven’t gone in ; but you 
needn’t be surprised if I don’t go to-night.” 

But it’s just what we’ve been up to lots of times 
before,” Shote insisted. 

“ That may be ; for I guess we’ve been up to a good 
many things we ought to be ashamed of,” said Her- 
bert. “ I’ve been thinking ’em over a little.” 

Pshaw I ” Shote exclaimed. If ye stop to think 
things over, there ’s never no fun at all. I’m going ; 


296 


YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS. 


you can do as you like. Only promise not to blow 
on us.’^ 

You know very well I won^t do that,” said Her- 
bert, as they separated. 

At ten o'clock that night, when all the rest of the 
family were asleep in their beds, Herbert got out of 
his window upon a shed, with a bundle and a good 
stout stick which he dropped to the ground. Then 
he let himself down by the limbs of an apple-tree, 
picked up stick and bundle, and hastened away, but 
not in the direction of Whitaker's old barn. 

The other Wild Cats met, meanwhile, and after 
waiting for him a short time, started off on their 
raid without him. 

As they approached old Job's premises, they went 
around through an orchard, and finally climbed upon 
a wall, beyond which appeared the grape-trellises, 
perfectly still, in the bright moonlight. 

It was a calm, cool night in September. Not a 
leaf stirred. Only the crickets sang. 

“ Splendid I ” whispered Hi Hicks, — not speaking 
of the beauty of the scene before them (he was in- 
sensible to that), but of the chance for a quiet rob- 
bery of the vines. 

Don't Herb wish he was here ! ” chuckled Luff 
Redmond. 

“ Don't he, though I ” whispered somebody — not 
loud enough to be heard — hidden in a shadow of the 
wall, very near the spot where the boys were sitting. 

It was Herbert, who had reached the grounds 


THE WILD-CAT CLUB. 


291 


before them, and placed himself there in ambush 
among some barberry-bushes to watch their opera* 
tions. 

“ I never thought he would flunk out in this style,” 
said Shote Waters. 

I d^n’ know,” Hi answered ; “ Herb was always 
a little soft. Come to right-down genuyne pluck, he 
hain't got it.” 

“ 111 show you. Hi Hicks, whether I have or not 1 ” 
muttered Herbert, in the shadow. 

That^s so. Hi,” Shote rejoined ; he ^s a kind of 
coward.” 

Oh, am I ? ” thought Herbert, grasping his stick 
tightly. 

“ I say, boys,” whispered Luff, let’s agree not to 
give him any grapes.” 

No, nor any whiskey or cigars we buy with ’em, 
either,” replied Shote. 

Herbert trembled with shame and anger. Were 
these his familiar companions ? Were whiskey and 
cigars so necessary to them that they must steal in 
order to procure them ? Had it indeed come to this ? 
What would his good old grandfather, who trusted 
him and loved him so, — what would he think, if 
he knew? 

111 give you a lesson, young fellows I ” he said to 
himself, as they presently got down from the wall 
with their baskets, and began to rustle the vines. 

The full dark clusters looked luscious in the 
moonlight, and they were just beginning to fall 


298 


YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS. 


lightly into the baskets, when some one gave a 
low cry of alarm, and somebody else immediately 
called out: 

The old man ! ” 

I’ll old man ye I ” cried a thin, cracked voice. 

IVe caught ye this time, ye young ruflSans ! Steal- 
ing my grapes, air ye ? Take that ! and that I ’’ The 
old man rushed after them, and thwack went his stick 
over the backs of Luff first, then Hi, and again of 
Shote, as he attempted to hide behind a trellis. 

“ III larn ye a lesson ! — Thwack / — “ IVe been 
watching for ye ! — Thwack 1 thwack I — I know 
ye, ye pesky Wild Cats, every one of ye — Thwack! 
thwack! thwack! 

Sometimes the stick hit a back or shoulder, some- 
times a basket, and sometimes a trellis ; while the 
young marauders ran as if for their lives, with the 
little bent old man at their heels. 

He had got between them and the orchard, and 
the moonlight was behind him. They escaped 
through the vineyard, tumbled over another wall 
into a field, and separated, running in various di- 
rections. The sound of their footsteps died in the 
distance, and then suddenly all was still. 

The old man stopped at the wall, picked up a 
basket that had been dropped, and went swiftly 
through the vines, to make sure that no Wild Cat 
was lurking among them. 

Then, any one who had been watching might have 
seen that he was merely a counterfeit old man, after 



The Wild-Cat Club. — Page 298. 









THE WILD-CAT CLUB. 


299 


all ; for off cam© the coat and hat and rag whiskers, 
the bent figure straightened up, and Herbert Amsden 
stood among the trellises. 

“ I’ve no pluck, have I ? A coward, am I ? ” he 
said to himself, with a little laugh. “ Their backs 
will ache and elbows sing for one while, to pay for 
that ! ” 

He packed his disguise in the basket, hid it in 
some bushes on the other side of the orchard, and 
crept into Whitaker’s barn by a hole the Wild Cats 
knew. 

All was still there. But he felt pretty sure the 
boys would come in presently, to talk over their 
escape. 

He was not mistaken. Soon Luff and Hi crawled 
through the hole, and Shot© and others followed. 
Concealed in the dark mow, Herbert heard ©very 
word they said. 

“ He did hit me an awful crack right on my crazy- 
bone,” said Luff. 

1 got it over the head and ears I ” exclaimed 
Shot©. “ There ’s a bunch on my skull as big as a 
butt’nut.” 

“ He jest about broke my shoulder ! ” complained 
Hi. Who would have thought the old feller was so 
smart ! ” 

“ Or that he could run so ! ” said Luff. 

I thought of course I could get away from him,” 
remarked another ; but he legged it like a deer. 
Talk about old Pollard havin’ the rheumatics I ” 


300 YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS. 

I left my basket/' said Luff ; that's the most 1 
care about." 

I bet ye, Herb told on us," some one sug- 
gested. 

And a sharp discussion of that point ensued ; dur- 
ing which Herbert heard some remarks about himself 
that made his ears tingle. On the whole, however, 
the Wild Cats were inclined to acquit him of that 
treachery. 

He waited until they had all left the barn ; then 
he, too, crawled out, found the captured basket, ran 
home with it, climbed the apple-tree to the roof of 
the shed, and got in at the window. 

“ It's the last time I ever leave the house or get 
back into it in any such foolish or dishonest way as 
this ! " he vowed to himself as he hurriedly threw 
off his clothes and went to bed. 

And he kept that vow. His Wild-Cat days were 
over. 

Not long after, be met Hi and Shote in the street. 
They accosted him in a friendly way, and Hi said : 

“ Why didn't you come with us Saturday night ? " 
I thought I wouldn't," Herbert answered, sober- 
ly; ^‘had something else to do. Did you have a 
good time?" 

“ Oh, boss I " said Shote. 

“ Tip-top I " said Hi. 

“ Get any grapes ? " Herbert inquired, 

A few, — not very many," said Hi 
What was the matter ? Sour ? " 


THE WILD-CAT CLUB. 


301 


“ No, — good grapes, — but — look here. Herb ! 
did you tell on us ? 

“ I ? cried Herbert. I never breathed a sylla- 
ble to a living soul ! ” 

“ So I told the boys,’^ said Hi, more convinced than 
ever that Herbert had not betrayed them. 

What made you think I did ? ” Herbert wished to 
know. 

Well, I’ll tell you,” said Hi, with a foolish sort of 
laugh. The old man came out and met us.” 

The old man Pollard ? ” 

“ Yes ; just as we were going to help ourselves.” 

And what did he do ? ” 

He gave us sorrier 

Job Pollard gave you some ! ” exclaimed Her- 
bert. “ I don’t believe that I ” 

He did — didn’t he, Shote ? ” said Hi, with a wink 
at his companion, 

“ Yes,” Shote stoutly averred; ^^he gave us all we 
wanted 

And more toOj' said Hi. 

In your baskets ? ” 

“Well, no, not in our baskets,” said Shote. “I’d 
a great deal rather have had mine in my basket.” 

The boys separated ; and as soon as Herbert was 
alone, you should have seen him hold his sides and 
double up with laughter. 

The next time the Wild Cats met in the bam, they 
found Luff’s basket on the beam of the mow, with a 
paper pinned to the handle. 


302 


YOUNG JOE AND OTHEli BOYS. 


On the paper was written, in a cramped and trem- 
bling hand, this notice : 

“ Here is your basket, boys, and I hope you will make a better 
use on’t another time than to go hookin’ an old man’s grapes. I 
forgive ye, if ye’ll behave yerselfs in futur’. But I know every 
one of you, and don’t let me hear any more of your pranks if you 
know what is good for yerselfs. A Friend.” 

This affair broke up the Wild-Cat Club. In time 
most of the members, following the example of Her- 
bert, became industrious and sober. 

He was of too honest a nature to keep the others 
long deceived as to his conduct in the affair. But 
when at last he confessed that he was the old man 
who had met them in the vineyard, and “ given them 
more than they wanted, they were ready not only 
to forgive him, but even to thank him for the timely 
lesson they had learned. 


THE START IN LIFE SERIES 

By J. T. TROWBRIDGE 
Cloth Illustrated Price per volume, $i.oo 

A Start in Life : A Story of the 
Genesee Country. 

In this story the author recounts the hard- 
ships of a young lad in his first endeavor to 
start out for himself. It is a tale that is full 
of enthusiasm and budding hopes. 

Biding His Time* 

“It is full of spirit and adventure, and 
presents a plucky hero who was willing to 
‘bide his time,’ no matter how great the 
expectations that he indulged in from his 
uncle’s vast wealth, which he did not in the 
least covet.” — Boston Home Journal. 

The Kelp- Gatherers : A Story of the Maine Coast. 

A bright and readable story, with all the hints of character and the 
vicissitudes of human life, in depicting which the author is an acknowl- 
edged master. 

The Scarlet Tanager, and other bipeds. 

Every new story which Mr. Trowbridge begins is followed through 
successive chapters by thousands who have read and re-read many times 
his preceding tales. One of his greatest charms is his absolute truthful- 
ness. He does not depict little saints, or incorrigible rascals, but ]ust dojs* 

The Lottery Ticket* 

“ This is one of the many popular stories written by this well-known 
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to most of the young people who read. The moral is always good, the 
influence in the right direction, and the characters so portrayed that the 
right is always rewarded and the wrong fails to prosper.” — Dubuque^ 
Iowa, Herald. 

The Adventures of David Vane and David Crane* 

A strong, homely, humorous story of the everyday life of American 
country-bred boys, by one who is acknowledged to be the best living story- 
teller in his peculiar vein. 



For salt by all booksellers, or sent, postpaid, on receipt of price, by 

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BOSTON 


The Tide-Mill Stories 

By J. T. TROWBRIDGE 


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Phil and His Friends. 

The hero is the son of a man who from drink got into debt, and, after hav- 
ing given a paper to a creditor authorizing him to keep the son as a se- 
curity for his claim, ran away, leaving poor Phil a bond slave. The story 
involves a great many unexpected incidents, some of which are painlul and 
some comic. Phil manfully w’orks for a year cancelling his father’s debt, 
and then escapes. The characters are strongly drawn, and the story is ab- 
sorbingly interesting. 

The TInkham Brothers’ Tide^'Mill. 

“ ‘ The Tinkbam Brothers ’ were the devoted sons of an invalid mother. The 
story tells how they purchased a tide-mill, which afterwards, by the ill-will 
and obstinacy of neighbors, became a source of much trouble to them. It 
tells also how, by discretion and the exercise of a peaceable spirit, they at 
last overcame all dilhculties.” — Christian Observer, Louisville, Ky. 

The Satin-wood Box. 

“ Mr. Trowbridge has always a purpose in his writings, and this time he 
has undertaken to show how very near an innocent boy can come to the 
guilty edge and yet be able by fortunate circumstances to rid himself of all 
suspicion of evil. There is something winsome about the hero ; but he has 
a singular way of falling into bad luck, although the careful reader will 
never feel the least disposed to doubt his honesty.” — Syracuse Standard. 

The Little Master. 

This is the story of a schoolmaster, his trials, disappointments, and final 
victory. It will recall to many a man nis experience in teaching pupils, and 
in managing their opinionated and self-willed parents. The story has the 
charm which is always found in Mr. Trowbridge’s works. 

“Many a teacher could profit by reading of this plucky little school- 
master.’^ — Journal of Education. 

His One Fault. 

“ As for the hero of this story ‘ His One Fault * was absent-mindedness. 
He forgot to lock his uncle’s stable door, and the horse was stolen. In 
seeking to recover the stolen horse, he unintentionally stole another. In 
trying to restore the wrong horse to his rightful owner, he was himself ar- 
rested. After no end of comic and dolorous adventures, he surmounted all 
bis misfortunes by downright pluck and genuine good feeling. It is a noble 
contribution to juvenile literature.” — Woman’s Journal. 

i^eter Budstone. 

“ Mr. J. T. Trowbridge’s ‘ Peter Budstone ’ is another of those altogether 
good and wholesome books for boys of which it is hardly possible to speak too 
highly. This author shows us convincingly how juvenile reading may be 
made vivacious and interesting, and yet teach sound and clean lessons. 
‘Peter Budstone ’ shows forcibly the folly and crime of ‘ hazing.’ It is the 
story of a noble young fellow whose reason is irreparably overthrown by 
the savage treatment he received from some of his associates at college. 
It is a powerful little book, and we wish every schoolboy and college youth 
could read it.” — Philadelphia American. 


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The Silver Medal, and othek Stories. 

There were some schoolboys who had turned housebreakers, and among 
then’ plunder was a silver medal that had been given to one John Harris^' ', 
by the Humane Society for rescuing from drowning a certain lien ton 
Harry. Now Benton Barry was one of the wretched housebreakers. 'J'his is 
the summary of the opening chapter. The story is intensely interesting In 
its serious as well as its humorous parts. 

His Own Master. 

“ This is a book after the typical boy’s own heart. Its hero is a plucky 
young fellow, who, seeing no chance for himself at home, determines to 
make his own way in the world. ... He sets out accordingly, trudges to the 
far West, and finds the road to fortune an unpleasantly rough one.” — Phil- 
adelphia Inquirer. 

Bound in Honor. 

This story is of a lad, who, though not guilty of any bad action, has been 
an eye-witness of the conduct of his comrades, and felt “ Bound in Honor ” 
not to tell. 

“ A capital book in all respects, overflowing with all sorts of fun and 
adventure ; just the sort of book, in short, that the young folks will be 
anxious to read and re-read with as much continuous interest as the most 
favored of their storyoooks.” — Philadelphia Leader. 


The Pocket Rifle. 


“A boy’s story which will he read with avidity, as it ought to be, it Is so 
brightly and frankly written, and with such evident knowledge of the tem- 
peraments and habits, the friendships and enmities of schoolboys.” — Wew 
York Mail. 

“ This is a capital story for boys. It teaches honesty, integrity, and friend- 
ship, and how best they can be promoted. It shows the danger of hasty 
judgment and circumstantial evidence ; that right-doing pays, and dishon- 
esty never.” — Chicago Inter- Ocean. 

The Jolly Rover. 

“ This book will help to neutralize the ill effects of any poison which chil- 
dren may have swallowed in the way of sham-adventurous stories and wildly 
fictitious tales. ‘ The Jolly Rover ’ runs away from home, and meets life as 
it is, till he is glad enough to seek again his father’s house. Mr. Trowbridge 
has the power of making an instructive story absorbing in its interest, and 
of covering a moral so that it is easy to take.” — Christian Intelligencer. 

Young Joe, and other Boys. 

” Young Joe,” who lived at Bass Cove, where he shot wild ducks, took 
some to town for sale, and attracted the attention of a portly gentleman 
fond of shooting. This gentleman went duck shooting with Joe, and their 
adventures were more amusing to the boy than to the amateur si»ortsman. 

There are thirteen other short stories in the book which will be sure to 
please the young folks. 


Complete Illustrated Catalogue sent free on application. 


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The Trowbridge Novels 

By J. T. TROWBRIDGE 


Eight Volumes. Cloth, New uniform Unding. Priee $1.50 each. 


Neighbor Jackwood. New Revised Edition, with Autobio- 
graphical Chapter. 

“ It sparkles with wit, it is liquid with huraor, it has the unmistakable 
touch of nature, and it has a procession of characters like a novel of Scott ; 
indeed, in many ways it recalls that great master.” — John Burroughs. 

Neighbor’s Wives. ^ , 

“ A new edition of one of the most successful of this favorite author s 
books. It will be read with fresh interest by many who have welcomed it 
in earlier editions, and to those who now give it their first reading it will 
yield delightful entertainment, and unfold lessons that will live long in the 
memory.” — Gospel Banner. 

Coupon Bonds. . ^ ^ 

“ ‘ Coupon Bonds * is undoubtedly one of the best stories ever published 
In this country. It is a most happy and felicitous stroke. It is brim- 
ful of the very best quality of humor, — the humor that grows naturally 
out of the character and the situation, and it moves along briskly, without 
any urging or pushing by the author. It is full of incident, full of charac- 
ter, full of novel and ludicrous surprises and situations. — iscrioner s 
Monthly. 

Cudjo’s Cave. 

“ This is one of Mr. Trowbridge’s best stories. His readers are accus- 
tomed to plenty of lively incidents and exciting adventures, and in this 
volume the supply is surely abundant. The story opens with the struggle 
of a Quaker schoolmaster in Tennessee previous to the opening of the late 
war, and the exciting scenes attendant upon the opening of the great 
struggle between the North and South are portrayed in a gr^hic manner. 

‘ Cudjo’s Cave ’ is a book to make a favorable impression.” — (^pital. 

Three Scouts. 

This story is a companion to “ Cudjo’s Cave ” and “ The Drummer Boy,” 
in being a narrative of stormy events in the Civil War, when the army of 
the Cumberland, under Rosecrans, and the Confederate forces, under 
Bragg, were battling with each other in 1862. Yet it is complete in itself as 
a story. 

The Drummer Boy. Illustrated. 

The author of this book is so famous as a story -writer that another ex- 
cellent one is only what all his readers expect. It is a story of the late war, 
and of a boy who went into the army as a drummer, and who, from the good 
instructions of a fond and noble mother, sought to impart to his rude and 
reckless companions some of the good of his own character. 

Parnell’s Folly. 

All the sterling qualities which have placed Mr. Trowbridge among 
the foremost of American novelists are to be found in this new romance. 
It is not a short story or series of sketches that may be “ devoured ” in an 
hour, but, as the number of its pages testify, a full-blooded romance, alive 
with incident, and overflowing with interest. 

Martin Merrivale: His X Mark. 

This story of New England life abounds in passages of rare humor and 
pathos. Not even in ” Coupon Bonds ” nor in ” Neighbor Jackwood ” has 
Trowbridge created characters better fitted to give him enduring fame. 
Nc one can read the story without seeing that the author has put hS whole 
soul in it. 

For sale by all booksellers, or sent postpaid on reoHpt <tf price. 

Our Complete Catalogue sent free. 

L£^£^ & Sli£lP.AR<D, FublisHers* Boston 

























. 


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iUL 10 1907 


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